


Young & Beautiful

by AKnightOfAGoodKing



Series: the House of Wayne-El [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Hebephilia, Suspicious Older Man, predator - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-02 00:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11498406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKnightOfAGoodKing/pseuds/AKnightOfAGoodKing
Summary: An old friend from Bruce's university days returns to Gotham, and he has his eyes for the ever-conflicted Damian. This special interest in youngest does not go unnoticed by the family.[DO NOT REPOST/REUSE MY WORK(S) WITHOUT MY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND PERMISSION.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this idea for a while, but I am still in the process of completing the plot, making the story up as I go. Please be patient with me. ^^

**I**

_Ah, Apollo, sweet son,_  
_his lights are consumed in shadows,_  
_and from his corpse, Hades sits,_  
_exquisite, and old.  
_ 1.1

It had been a long time since Edward was in the States, not since his two years attendance at Gotham University, and it had been just as long since he had last seen Bruce Wayne, a younger classmate—two years his junior—whose intelligence matched his beauty, a hopeless prospect for young fun turned into a great man for the city of Gotham as its greatest patron and white knight. Bruce was mainly why Edward accepted the invitation from Marie Rios, a mutual acquaintance and classmate from University, to attend the grand opening of her new gallery museum, another mark in her career as an artist and curator.

He was always up to see old friends again, but he never really had any reason to go back to Gotham. He was not one to just come and stop by, especially since he had been so busy over the last fifteen years with his own business as the head of his family's fortune and an up-and-coming drug lord of Western Europe. The invitation was a great break, he decided, and he had been hearing a lot of news about his old friend, adopting children and donating a good amount of money every year, almost outdoing himself the year before.

Marie invited him Monday, and Edward arrived at the old city on Friday, the day before the event. He made sure to bring his two most favorite _pets—_ one of an Oriental breed and the other Scandinavian—with him, giving them both seat beside him on his private jet. He made certain his pets were taken to the large hotel suite he had reserved for the weekend, knowing that they were not legal in the States, much less in Gotham with its famous Dark Knight. He had to be careful, or there were consequences to be paid. He spent the time between settling in and the opening lounging in his suite with his two pets, playing with them with leisure. It gave him time to enjoy his luxury for a moment for the first time in a month, business being more busier than ever before, and to think about what he'd say to Bruce when they see each other again.

Edward smiled at the thought of Bruce, the only sixteen year old in the third year physics class, the first love of his life, if he did say so himself. Everyone knew who Bruce was, the Prince of Gotham who lost his parents when he was young. That was how everyone saw him, a sad and lost child trying to make it on his own after a tragedy. Everyone pitied him, trying to be his friend, but Bruce didn't like that much, preferring to keep quiet and alone.

But Edward didn't pity Bruce. No, the Englishman was much more interested in getting to know who Bruce really was because Bruce was attractive, intelligent, and _young_ , the first sign of the Englishman’s preferences, but Edward wasn't entirely to blame. No, Bruce was at fault too, attractive an understatement, because the younger was beautiful, like a work of art with jet black hair almost like the night sky and blue eyes that glowed dimly in a fully lit room. Edward thought him untouchable, but he was his father's son. A challenge was an amazing adrenaline rush.

The result came out as a mix, both fulfilling and disappointing. Edward managed to wear young Bruce down and befriend him, but that was it. He got the boy to smile in his presence, but Bruce clearly refused all advances, even saying it outright once. It took three semesters, and they were friends. That was it.

One semester later, Edward was on his way back home to London to continue on his education, Gotham University a chance to experience the States. They didn't say goodbye as they simply nodded to each other when Bruce graduated, already finishing all four years. Edward only saw the Wayne family butler attending for his friend, and that was the end of that. No contact, no phone calls, no acknowledgement of the other. Despite that, Edward was excited to see Bruce again, wondering if the younger one was still as beautiful as he remembered, and he was sure Bruce would be happy to see him again after so long.

After all, Edward was his only friend.

When Saturday night quietly came along, Edward put on his best suit and was driven to Marie's new gallery, and as he entered, the hostess herself was the first to greet him. “Edward!” she called out, smiling very pretty in her green dress. She was very lovely, the face of great talent. “It has been so long.”

Edward smiled back, pleased to see her and enveloped her in a hug when she walked up to him. “It has,” he replied, “but you are still as wonderful as the last time I've seen you. Time moves around you, love.”

Marie laughed, wrapping her arm around his. “And you're still as flattering with your words. Please let me introduce you to a few of the other guests. I know you don't do business in the US, but I won't have an old friend of mine walk around alone tonight.”

Edward chuckled with good humor. “Well, I can't say I won't be alone, but I’m sure I know one or two faces here. A few of my clients are fans of yours so some might actually be here tonight. However, I'm very excited to see another old friend. I'm hoping you've invited him as well?”

“You mean Bruce?” she asked rhetorically as she led him through the crowd of guests. “Of course. He is the guest of honor. He donated half the funding for the opening as a gift. I cannot be more grateful for his support. He also brought some his children along.”

“Oh, yes. I've read about Bruce’s children. How much does he have now? It's like he gets a new one every year or so.”

“I can't say for sure, actually. He has four adopted children and one biological son, but there are some more who closely associated with him. Gotham loves them, declaring a new and bigger dynasty of the Wayne family. Bruce's the crowned prince of the city. It's adorable.”

Edward raised an eyebrow, becoming curious, but didn't reply as Marie continued to lead him deeper into the gallery. Guests greeted her, but she didn't stop for more than a moment, excited to bring old friends back together again. Edward was grateful. He couldn't stay for too long, sadly. He had business to attend to back at home. 

“Bruce!” Marie called out again, waving her free hand towards a tall man with an arm around a raven’s waist, her height much shorter than him. The man turned around, and for a moment, Edward’s breath was caught in his throat, remembering the first time he saw the Prince of Gotham.

 _Empty eyes as kind as dead fish._ Blue eyes, lively like morning glories opening at the break of dawn. _Not short but not tall, thin and lithe. He will grow out of it soon._ Taller and broader, muscles filling out his thinness. _He wore blankness like a mask, lips sealed in a line._ He wore a light layer of porcelain over his face, but genuine joy bled from underneath. _Beautiful. Young._ Beautiful. Still beautiful.

“Marie,” Bruce answered, the raven in his arm turning around too. Edward noted her delicate features, the defining tone of her exposed arm, her mixed ethnicity and her quietness. This was no average arm candy; she was not arm candy at all.

Then Bruce noticed him, much to Edward’s pleasure that recognition came almost instantly. “Edward Kingston!” the billionaire Gothamite said happily, reaching out his free hand to him. “It's been too long!”

Edward took Bruce’s offered hand, but he didn't shake it. Instead, he kissed the younger man’s knuckles, not a bit shy about the action. Marie chuckled on the side at Bruce’s light surprise. “Your good looks still grace you,” Edward said, as to answer Bruce’s questioning look.

It made Bruce laugh, smiling. He gestured to the raven he had his arm around. “Edward, I want you to meet my daughter, Cassandra.”

The raven, Cassandra, gave Edward a polite smile, showing that she knew her manners. “Charmed,” Edward commented, lacking interest to knowing her better. You couldn't blame him; Cassandra was very attractive, but women didn't interest him, no matter how young. “How have you been, Bruce? I hear you've become a family man.”

There was a moment of disappointment on Bruce's face—probably due to the lack of interest in his daughter, not that Edward cared—but it quickly disappeared, another smile. “Yes. I have too many to count on one hand now. Alfred has become a very happy grandfather to them. I'm very proud of them.”

Cassandra leaned against her adoptive father with a bigger smile, to which Bruce held her tighter. It was like they were off in their own little world.

“You two are absolutely precious,” Marie said, a hand on her cheek as she watched with delight. “Sadly, I can't stay still for too long. I need to attend to my other guests. Please enjoy yourselves tonight. Thank you so much for coming, Bruce, Edward. It's wonderful to see old friends again.”

“No, thank _you_ , Marie,” Bruce said, as Edward nodded in acknowledgement. “I wish you the best of luck. Not that you need it.”

Marie laughed, letting go of Edward to give Bruce a peck on the cheek in gratitude. “Bruce Wayne, if only I wasn't married to my husband and my art.”

Edward and Bruce watched her walk off as Cassandra waved a little. “I've been hearing about you too, Edward,” Bruce then said, continuing on their conversation. “Though just bits and pieces here and there. What have you been doing since you went home? It's a shame we never kept in contact.”

Edward nodded in agreement. “It is a shame, Bruce, and I even promised that we would still talk often after I took over the family business after my father died. I've never been so busy in my life ever since I started in some extra business on the side.”

Bruce chuckled. “I understand you. It seems the more time passes, the more work there needs to be done. It's very tiring, but it pays off once in awhile. Keep up the good work, and maybe you’ll change the world, Edward.”

“Not as much as you have. I know about your charities and donations, Bruce. Very impressive and very kind of you. I'm sure half of Gotham has a roof over their heads tonight because of you. I'm worried you might sell your manor to keep up the large sums of money you keep giving away.”

“You flatter me. There's no need to worry though. I have full faith in Tim and Lucius to keep Wayne Enterprise fully functioning and profitable for a very long time. They’re much more capable of it than I am. And honestly, I prefer going on skiing trips and sleeping in.”

Edward chuckled. “Tim is one of your sons, right? I would like to meet him. I'm always on the lookout for the next generation of businessmen, someone to replace you and I when we're dead and gone.”

“Of course. I’d love to show my kids to you. Now if only we can find him. The boys should be around here somewhere, if they are on their best behavior. As they promised.”

Cassandra laughed in her hand as she pointed towards someone coming towards them in the crowd. “There,” she said, alerting Bruce and Edward of a young man with black hair and blue eyes. He was around his early twenties, a toned body hidden under his navy blue suit, wearing a boyish smile as he looking back and forth in the crowd, looking for something.

“Have you seen Tim and Damian?” was the first thing the young man asked, forcing a laugh. “I might have lost them.”

Bruce sighed as Cassandra looked around, jumping to help. “I thought you said you were going to watch them,” the billionaire said, shaking his head in exasperation.

The young man pouted a little. “It's not my fault. I tried, but you know everyone in this family can sneak off easily, especially in a crowd. They were being civil too, so I trusted them to be nice.”

“Do you at least regret doing that?”

“Don’t push it, Bruce.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to Edward. “Edward, this is my oldest son, Dick,” he introduced with a small smile. “Dick, this is-”

“Edward Kingston,” the young man, Dick, answered himself, bursting out from his bad mood to a much more confident happiness as he shook Edward’s hand with both of his. “I know about you. It's nice to meet you, Mister Kingston. I didn't know Bruce was friends with such a prominent figure.”

The corner of Edward's lips perked up in amusement. “Not many people know that I'm friends with Bruce either,” he replied. “It's goes both ways, I suppose.”

“I bet. Usually I know about all of his friends, but he's allowed secrets. To a certain extent. Please excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, Dick walked away, Edward returning his focus back at his friend. “He's your oldest, right?” the Englishman asked. “How many do you have now?”

Bruce sighed tiredly, as if the thought of then was tiring. “Too much,” the billionaire replied with a small endearing smile. “Luckily, I have a house big enough to hold all of them.”

“And Alfred to feed us,” Cassandra added, laughing. Edward wondered where Bruce could've possibly gotten her, if she was another child picked up from the streets.

Someone came up to them, a young man shorter and just a bit taller than Cassandra, blue eyed and black hair. He had a frown on his face, glaring over his shoulder. This young man was attractive too—it was as if aesthetics in the form of people were naturally drawn to his friend—and he held himself professionally, even more than Bruce did.

“Tim,” Bruce said to this young man. “Where’s Damian?”

The young man, Tim, rolled his eyes. “He's fine, Bruce,” he answered, glaring over his shoulder again. “Dick’s got him. I'm just glad I'm not small anymore because I don't want to be seen carried like a little kid.”

“Damian is a kid,” Cassandra reminded, to which Tim snickered.

“Edward, this is Tim,” Bruce introduced, gesturing to Tim with a hand.

“Edward Kingston,” Tim automatically said, taking one look at Edward, and he held out a hand. “It's nice to meet you.”

Edward smiled, shaking Tim’s hand. It was a firm hold. A greatness was trusted upon the young man, Edward could tell. “It's nice to meet you too, Tim,” the Englishman replied. “I've read a lot about you online. How is it take on such a large business at the age of 17? I hope it's not too hard to handle.”

Tim charmingly smiled shaking his head a little in good humor. "No, if anything, it's the easiest part of my life, Mister Kingston. At least at WE, I can get things done without being interrupted almost every five second. So how do you know Bruce? I've never found any connections between you two despite your shared profession.”

“We were classmates at Gotham University. I moved back home to London when he graduated.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at Bruce, who shrugged in return. The young man looked back to Edward, putting on a polite smile. “That must be a very long time ago. I'm not calling Bruce old, but he's not young either.”

“Old man,” Cassandra said, giggling when Bruce faked a pained expression.

“I thought you loved me the most,” Bruce played along, laughing. “I might have to rearrange my favorite li- umph!”

A child came crashing from behind Bruce and Cassandra, grasping at the man’s suit jacket as Edward's view of him was blocked. “Father!” the boy exclaimed. “Tell Grayson to stop carrying me! I can walk just fine!”

“Dami,” Dick sang out as he returned back to his father and siblings. He had a playful smile on his face, bouncing his way instead of walking. “Come back to me. You're hurting my feelings.”

“Touch me without permission again and I'll hurt more than just your _feelings_ , Grayson. I  _will_ hide all the cereal littering your apartment.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, exasperated as he let go of Cassandra and turned around. “Damian, no threats,” he said in a commanding voice to the child, who was being held securely by the shoulders. The billionaire looked up to his oldest son. “Dick, keep it at the Manor.”

Dick frowned halfheartedly. “You ruin all the fun, Bruce,” he said. “Oh, hey, Tim. I was looking for you too.”

“Dick, you use me as a _replacement_ and I'll dropkick you,” Tim replied without hesitation.

“Fight, fight, fight,” Cassandra cheered.

“Cassandra,” Bruce warned, but his daughter didn't think much of it as she just grinned in return.

“Father, do you suppose we will leave soon?” the boy asked, still hidden from Edward.

“No, Damian. We're staying for the whole thing. You don't need to worry about Jay and Stephanie. They’ll be fine.”

“I'm not worried about them. I'm just saying it might've been wiser to leave me at the Manor.”

“Aw, you tired already, Dami?” Dick asked, laughing as he tried to grab the boy again.

“Grayson!”

Bruce pulled the boy away from Dick’s reach towards him. “No fooling around in public,” he said.

“Too late,” Tim said with a smirk, clearly an inside joke only, and Cassandra snickered at him, covering her mouth with her hands.

“Is that your youngest, Bruce?” Edward asked before they start to drift too far away from him.

They were far too interesting and attractive for him to let go so easily. It was like looking at a bouquet of black roses, not a thorn among them. If he tried hard enough and luck would allow it, Edward would have them wrapped around his fingers as a family friend, an uncle all the kids loved. Maybe even continue the pursuit to bed Bruce like he had originally planned.

Bruce turned his head around, as if he just remembered about Edward. He then smiled lightly. “Yes,” he replied, turned around fully as he gently pushed his youngest forward. “Edward, this is Damian.”

If Edward wasn't so skilled at pretending and hiding his desires so well, he would have fallen to his knees at the sight of the youngest Wayne, bearing much resemblance to Bruce with the nearly the same shade of blue in his eyes. If it were possible not to damage the boy, Edward would've plucked it out and use it for a doll’s eyes. The boy’s skin was kissed by a desert sun, his blood inherited from different regions of Eurasia, the most distinct features naturally cultivated over generations in the fertile lands. Oh, he was _so_ beautiful, maybe even exceeding his father, and young. Edward wanted nothing but to hold the child and never let go, to show the child off to the world as _his._

But Edward was skilled at pretending and hiding his desires so well, and he did not let them show, keeping his knees from falling in awe and ignoring the sudden pounding in his chest. Instead, he held a hand out to the boy, halfway to his father's height. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Damian,” Edward said, smiling delightfully.

Damian was reluctant to take it, probably seeing it as pointless and beneath him. He frowned, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “No,” the boy replied.

Tim sighed, rolling his eyes. “Be polite, Damian,” he said.

Damian was about to snap back when Dick said, “C’mon, Dami. He's one of Bruce's old friends.”

The youngest Wayne looked up to his father, and Bruce gave him a nod. Damian turned back to Edward, finally reaching out for a handshake. “It's nice to meet you, Mister Kingston,” he said, spoken like a prince. “Excuse me for my transgression.”

However, instead of a handshake, Edward took a hold of Damian's offered hand and, extending the same courtesy he did to Bruce, the Englishman brought the hand up to his lips and kissed his knuckles, bent down a bit to get at a comfortable level. That surprised Damian, and the rest of the Waynes. The boy pulled his hand away, wiping away the Englishman's warmth on his suit jacket.

“Apologies,” Edward smoothly said, giving Damian a genuine smile. “My business is fashion, and beauty is important. Your resemblance to your father shocked me, Damian, because you're just as handsome. I couldn't help it.”

Apparently, that was the right thing to say as Damian stood a little taller, liking the compliment. “Well, don't do it again.”

Cassandra leaned down to her youngest brother's height and placed a kiss on Damian’s cheek, which the boy did not protest as much to. “What are you doing, Cain?” he asked, raising an eyebrow to her sudden action rather than the kiss itself.

As she stood back to her height, Edward caught her eyes, and they were looking _at_ him, as if they were suspecting him of a crime not yet committed, as if they knew. But she said nothing to him. “Kisses are sweet,” she replied, leaning back against her father, and Bruce placed an arm around her waist again. “Let’s see the exhibits.”

Tim perked up, nodding. “Sure, Cass,” he agreed immediately, pointing to a hallway. “I haven't seen all of Rios’ pieces for her 'Gods Among Us’ project yet.”

“Oh, the white wood statues she water painted?” Dick asked, interested as he started walking that direction. “Those are amazing, Tim. My personal favorite is ‘Red God of the Sky'.”

Damian followed them absentmindedly, nodding along. “I think 'The Gray Night’ is the best,” he argued. “The contrast of the white wood and black water paint melts together, creating a multitude of gray shades, and if you look carefully, you'd see the light specks of yellow, blue and red. Her story behind it is quite interesting.”

“You would think so, Demon Brat,” Tim said. “The ‘Green Watcher’ is great too. And Jason loves 'Godly Princess’. But Steph keeps telling me that 'A Classic Witch' is the best piece.”

Their conversation started to become inaudibly as they walked away to the exhibit, leaving Edward, their father and their sister behind. It was endearing to see that they were knowledgeable.

“Come, Bruce,” Cassandra said, tugging at her father's arm to follow them. “Let's see 'Child of Legends’.”

Bruce smiled at his daughter. “Of course,” he said. “I personally like 'Golden Queen’. Remind me of a certain someone. Edward, sorry to leave you so soon. We can catch up another time? Will you be here in Gotham next week?”

Edward blinked, suddenly finding himself empty handed. “Yes,” he lied, a smile to cover everything up. “At least for another month. I've been debating on taking a vacation, and Marie's invitation decided it for me.”

“That's great. What about coming over the Manor for lunch Wednesday? Alfred's always willing to feed guests.”

Edward smiled, finding that this chance hadn't been taken away from him completely yet. “I would love to, Bruce. Thank you so much for the invitation. I'll be there by 11?”

Bruce nodded as Cassandra pulled at him again, walking with her. “See you then, Edward.”

“See you, Bruce,” Edward replied, watching them disappear into the crowd of guests, but he could see feel the look in Cassandra's eyes, the assumption and the knowing. She was going to be trouble, he knew, but it wouldn't be the first time he had faced an obstacle in his eyes before. It'll only add to the fun when he has Damian Wayne in his possession.

.

.

.

“How was the opening?” Stephanie asked when they arrived back at the Manor, nearly 2 in the morning. She had just come back from patrol, Jason taking the other four hours on his own.

Alfred closed the door quietly when Bruce, Cassandra, Damian, Dick and Tim pooled in, looking fine in their formal clothes while Stephanie was in an old, worn out pair of pink pajamas. She took it from Tim’s closet, and it was the most comfortable thing in the world.

“It went as always,” Tim said, yawning as he started unbuttoning his suit. “The art was the best part of the night. Rios really did a lot within five years.”

“Tim and Damian almost broke an ice sculpture at the entree table,” Dick then said, negating any and all thoughts that the night went entirely well.

“Grayson kept trying to pick me up,” Damian added, shooting a look at his oldest brother.

Bruce sighed, bow-tie already loosened and his Brucie persona checked out at the door. He went back to his natural almost brooding stance, his feet bare with only socks on. “I should’ve brought Clark so I don't have to talk to a thousand people,” he stated as Alfred led them to the kitchen for a pre-bedtime snack.

“I don't know what stopped you this time, Master Bruce,” the old butler said. “Besides the relationship being kept under wraps.”

“He promised a night out with Lois. I should've invited the both of them.” The Wayne patriarch was pouting slightly now, regretting his choices. 

“I'm sure Miss Lane knows how troublesome you and your children are a group is. She may have forgiven last year's Thanksgiving, but I doubt she has forgotten.”

Stephanie smiled, remembering Thanksgiving. That was a lot of walls to clean with a toothbrush. It took longer because Alfred, justified in being upset and disappointed, kept pointing out tiny spots that they missed and they didn't stop until he was satisfied. “What 'bout you, best friend?” she asked Cassandra who had spoken yet.

The raven frowned. "Kingston. I don't like him."

“I could tell,” Bruce commented. “Was it about the kiss?”

“Kiss?” Stephanie repeated. “What kiss?”

“We're not speaking about it,” Damian said, scowling.

“Little Damian here got his hand kissed by a rich Englishman,” Dick teased, smiling. “It's sounds like something that came out of Jason’s books actually, but Damian’s way too young and too 'son of Batman’ to be a young woman looking to get married for love.”

“Kingston said Damian looked as handsome as Bruce,” Tim added, laughing a little. “Damian? Handsome? As if. More like Demon Brat.”

“Shut it, Drake,” Damian demanded, face a little flushed. “It won't happen again. I doubt I'll ever see him outside a formal setting.”

"I don't like him," Cassandra stated with a frown. "He looks as Damian and Bruce funny." 

“Oh? And how does he look at us?” Bruce asked for everyone, interested to hear what Cassandra had observed.

“Like a prize to be won. It's a game. I don't like him."

“Was he like this when you were younger, Bruce?” Tim asked as Alfred placed slices of Ma’s apple pie in front of everyone, and they dug in.

Bruce shrugged. “I knew of his attraction to me,” he replied, "but he always respected me when I told him no. Though he was constantly persistent. I guess his taste got stronger over the years.”

“Question!” Stephanie abruptly said. “Did you and Kingston do the nasty?”

The refrigerator door slammed close, in the most polite way of course, and everyone turned to Alfred. His sudden action interrupted any thought processes to be grossed out by talking about Bruce’s sex life. He was standing by the door, hand on the handle, and there was a look of offense on his face.

"Absolutely _not_ ," Alfred stated, looking crossed at Bruce in warning. It said to only tell the truth. “Is that right, _sir_?”

Bruce forced a cough, looking away as he couldn't handle Alfred’s parenting look too well. “Absolutely not, Alfred,” he confirmed.

None of the kids knew what that was about, so they moved on, Tim asking, “Should we investigate? I'm asking since he is _your_ friend, Bruce.”

“There is nothing to investigate,” Damian interrupted, not looking pleased. “Kingston is merely curious. There is nothing beyond that. Father and I are both very attractive people, so it's not surprising to catch someone's attention, much less a homosexual man.”

“You noticed that too?” Tim asked, smirking a little. “I couldn't believe that he skimmed over Cass like that.”

“Me too,” Bruce said, the doting father he was.

Dick laughed, patting Damian on the head, much to the latter’s annoyance. “We're investigating,” he stated, as if there was no argument. “If Cass doesn't like Kingston, there is something up with him, and I'm not taking any chances, not when it comes to anyone in this family. Right, Bruce?”

Everyone looked to Bruce, even Alfred, and Bruce nodded, mostly because if he didn't, Dick would do everything himself and Cassandra's dislike for Edward _was_ concerning. Not even the most pretentious and arrogant socialites even gained anything but polite curiosity from her. “Find trials on him, paper and digital,” he said, “but don't get near him as of it. We need to know what we're dealing with before we go on field work.”

“Father, I don't think this is necessary,” Damian protested, obviously not happy about this.

“Quiet, Baby Brat,” Stephanie told the youngest. She raised a hand almost excitedly. “I'm going to find out where he's staying and snoop around.”

“Steph—"

“I'm going with her,” Cassandra interrupted Bruce, which now made it two people who didn't listen to him well when they decided to go against him.

Bruce sighed, crossing his arms. “He'll be here around 1100 for lunch Monday,” he told them. “After he arrives, the limit is one hour, understood?”

The girls nodded, smiles on their faces. “I'll do the trailing,” Tim volunteered, “starting back to when he first took over his father's business, even further if nothing comes up.”

“Me and Jay will watch over Damian then!” Dick offered.

“I don't need protecting, Grayson!” Damian shouted.

“No honeypot,” Alfred warned.

“No honeypot,” Bruce agreed as well. “I'll leave Damian to you two, and I'll keep Edward busy. Report anything when you get it.”

Damian slammed his hands flat against the table. “You can't just decided on this, Father,” he said, looking more upset than he already was since the conversation started. “I should be more involved with this if Kingston is targeting me.”

“He's targeting you as Damian Wayne, not Robin,” Bruce reminded him. His expression softened from a look of irritation. “I'm not excluding you because I doubt your abilities, Damian, but if I cannot risk any of our identities. Edward is a smart man, and observant. Any slip up could mean trouble.”

Damian frowned, because he understood what his father was coming from. Instead of replying back, he walked out of the kitchen, not taking one look back.

Dick frowned. “He's going to make trouble,” he told everyone.

"Protect him," Cassandra said, determined.

“I want to get rid of Kingston already,” Stephanie added. “I'm actually hoping for it. I've never seen the kid walk away without a fight before.”

“I'll check up on him in a bit, Master Bruce,” Alfred assured. “And I shall be home the entire day Monday as well.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said, grateful for such a loving grandfather to his children and a caring father to him.

“I'm going to attach bugs to him just in case,” Tim said, walking to his room. “Just to piss him off when he finds them.”


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

_Hades, god of earthly stars,_  
_is alone upon his throne,_  
_but at his feet are his children,_  
_born without melting gold._ _  
_ 1.2

Edward walked up the last part of the winding road up the mountainous outskirt where Wayne Manor stood, overlooking the city like the castle in a fairy tale, He imagined the beautiful Bruce, the Prince of Gotham, as the ever watching king, who walked among the common people but rarely among equals. Thus, the king who graced his realm often kept himself within the walls of his home, high in his tower, and it was Edward’s duty, as the knight in shining armor, to reach the castle and bring prosperity to the king. There would be no dragon or obstacles for the knight would enchant the thornless black roses that grew around the king one by one, and they would all live happily ever after.

It was Alfred who answered the door, greeting the guest an essential duty of a butler, and said, “Welcome, Mister Kingston. Your hair is longer than it was nearly fifteen years ago. Please follow me. Lunch will take place in the garden patio. Master Bruce will be arriving soon. He's a late riser.”

Edward smiled, nodding politely as the older man gestured him in. “You must be Alfred,” he said, being led to the garden. “Bruce mentioned you a lot back in uni. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Yes. Master Bruce spoke of you as his good friend back then. I'm grateful that you took care of him. I'm not sure what would happen if nobody was ever watching him.”

“Maybe have another kid.”

Alfred actually looked tired at that. “Bruce is very fortunate that they're all dear to me as well.”

They reached the garden patio where a small black table setting stood, a wonderful view filled with flowers all around it. Alfred gestured Edward to sit. “Lunch will be served in five minutes,” the butler said. “Hopefully, he's up.”

Then Bruce appeared, looking as if he had barely woken up. His hair was messy, and he hadn't even changed out of his sleeping robes, exposing a little of his well defined chest. He blinked when he saw Edward, remembering what time and day it was. “Edward,” he greeted, smiling sheepishly. He yawned into his hand. “I had forgotten about our lunch date. Should've said 5 PM instead.”

“Should I come back later?” Edward asked jokingly. He laughed, reaching towards Bruce for a hug, which the other enthusiastically returned. When they parted, Bruce kept an arm over his shoulder, leading Edwards towards the patio of the large garden of the Manor. They quickly took their seats at a black iron table set, flowers blooming prettily on a spring day.  “I see that you are doing quite well for yourself, Bruce. You are one lucky man, aren’t you?”

Bruce, sitting from across Edward, laughed, blushing quite a bit at the compliment. “You flatter me, Edward,” he said, leaning forward on the table, “but I can’t say it’s all my doing. My good looks and fortune were inherited, you know.”

“And adopting children?”

“Credit belongs to Alfred. My butler took care of me ever since I was born, so I thought I would give back in other ways. Who knows where those kids would’ve ended up, am I right?”

Edward laughed. “There’s nothing better than being adopted by a wealthy man.”

A look appeared Bruce’s face for a mere second, as if he was trying to hold back on a debate. That, to Edward, seemed odd. Maybe his friend was more than just a bored billionaire bachelor, because that look was regret, which was something that never crossed Edward’s mind about Bruce, the quiet boy he met in a setting much older than him by nearly a decade. The Englishman was thinking that Bruce wished he was a better father, a better model to the very people who lived in his home.

“Tell me,” Bruce said, moving on smoothly, “have you anyone special in your life? I’m sure a charming man like you had one or a dozen interests in your life.”

“No, no, Bruce. If you knew me in uni, you’d know that kind of life isn’t simply my cup of tea. I prefer being alone. It gives me time and energy to do other things besides focus on my father’s business. However, I am awfully bad at saying no to beautiful things.”

Edward smiled, staring into Bruce’s soft blue eyes, as he caressed the other’s hand on the table. Bruce bit his bottom lip, flirting back. “And I’m awfully bad at keeping my hands to myself.”

They were interrupted by faint, far away footsteps. “Excuse me for the interruption,” the old family butler said a moment later, stepping out onto the garden porch. His lips were thin with disapproval, not pleased about a very recently developed situation. As if something didn't go as planned. “Master Bruce, it seems that Master Damian has managed to return home earlier than expected.”

Bruce immediately grimaced, standing up from his seat. “How did he get past Dick and Jason?” he asked, sighing tiredly.

“Master Conner, sir. I believe a little bit of trickery has come to play.”

The Wayne patriarch shook his head, grumbling something about arrogant sons. “Send Damian to his room. I'll have a talk with him later. And tell Conner none of this is his fault.”

The sound of footsteps came before Alfred’s reply, a young and lively voice saying, “What's not my fault? Demon Brat, did you lie to me? Am I in trouble? Dick’s going to kill me!”

“What does it matter, Kent!” the nectar sweet voice Edward had fallen for said, demanding to be heard. “Put me down this instance!”

“Master Conner, I said to wait in the kitchen,” Alfred said over his shoulder, footsteps growing closer and louder.

A new face peeked out into the garden, a young teenage boy soon reaching adulthood. He had that classic handsome Hollywood look, like Frank Sinatra and Robert Vaughn, mixed with the kind of light feminine beauty that men in this modern age had gain, immature but certain to reach its peak within the next few years. Like the rest of Bruce’s children Edward had met, this boy had black hair and blue eyes, defined muscles covered by a simple black shirt. He was quite the looker as well, very fitting in the Wayne family picture. And in his arms was Damian, the new light of Edward’s life. The Englishman merely smiled, allowing no other signs to betray the lighter beating of his heart, fluttering as he looked upon perfection.

“Are we interrupting?” the teenager, Conner, then asked, looking at the obvious. “Sorry, Bruce.”

“It's okay, Conner,” Bruce said, walking towards them. He attempted to usher them back into the walls of the Manor, as if to hide them from the world. “I'm just having lunch with an old friend. Go back inside. Damian, we will talk later about your behavior.”

An immediate reply from Damian, who was apparently locked in Conner’s arms tightly and securely: “You can't blame me, Father. Whose idea was it to let Grayson and Todd take me out for lunch? One of them lives with a horrible diet, and the other makes horrible decisions in general. The day would have ended up disastrously.”

Conner looked like a deer in the headlight, stuck in between the crossfire of a stubborn father and an equally stubborn son. It was quite amusing, really, as the two began to stare down at each other, a battle of wills.

“Bruce,” Edward said, taking advantage of the situation at hand. “Why don’t we let the boys join us?” he asked, offering a solution to the conflict. “We've barely sat down, and I'm sure your butler can make two more plates.”

It was Alfred who replied first, sighing in a kind of defeat agreement for some reason. “I suppose it's the best idea at the moment,” the old man said, gesturing his wards to sit down at the table. Luckily, it had four seats already.

Bruce looked upset for a moment before shrugging off the bad mood he wore on his face, putting on a much more lighter smile. Conner awkwardly followed, not yet putting the younger boy down. He had quite the hold on Damian. Edward had the pleasure of Bruce switching seats, no longer sitting across from the Englishman but directly to his right. However, Bruce then gestured Conner to take the seat he first took, shaking his head when the teenager was about to let Damian sit on the empty chair on Edward’s left.

“Keep him on your lap, Conner,” Bruce said, ruling out a punishment for an unknown disobedience. Maybe Edward could ask about it later. Maybe even get the chance to comfort the boy if necessary.

“Whatever you say, B,” Conner said carefully, able to read the tense mood between Bruce and Damian. Obviously, he had been a knowing victim of a few of these before.

Damian clicked his tongue in annoyance. “This is completely unreasonable, Father,” he said, crossing his arms. It seemed that he had already learned that it was pointless to struggle in Conner’s powerful hold over him.

Bruce, mindlessly playing with a lock of Conner’s hair for a moment, leaned forward on the table, giving his youngest a look that dared him to say another word. Edward never expected to see his old friend act this way, but it was very pleasant, like seeing the inside of a neatly wrapped present with all the pretty colors and a beauty to go with it. Then Conner did something surprising. He pushed Bruce away with one hand, palm flat against Bruce’s eyes as if to stop an oncoming staring contest, and pulled Damian back onto his chest with the other, palm flat against the youngest’s eyes too.

“What are you doing, Kent?!” Damian shouted, his struggle too gentle to win against the teen.

“You two need to stop glaring at each other,” Conner said, akin to scolding. He had a frown on his face, rolling his eyes. “I don't know what's going on, Bruce, but I'm not having lunch in an awkward situation. And Damian, stop being annoying or I'm going to call Dick.”

Edward had never seen Bruce look so amused, leaning back on his chair and relaxing his posture. “I’ll be good,” the Wayne patriarch said, Alfred finally returning with lunch all carried in a metal cart.

The butler seamlessly set the table with plates for each person seated, a small bowl of fresh fruits as the edible centerpiece. He gracefully placed porcelain cups in front of them, gesturing to the clear jugs of coffee and water, a steaming hot tea pot beside them. “Please serve yourselves as you see fit,” Alfred told them, dismissing himself from the garden. “I'll be back in an hour to clean up. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thank you, Pennyworth,” Damian said, picking up a for to start eating as his father merely nodded his head.

“Thanks, Alfred!” Conner said happily.

Edward felt the heaviness of blue eyes on him, carefully to watch him without rest, as their owner unknowingly added to the Englishman’s desires. He knew he was a sick man, but he could not look away from Damian slowly devoured the meal, his lips-

A phone rang, pulling Edward out of his thoughts and observation of Damian.

“S-sorry,” Conner said, putting down his fork to pick up the cellphone in his pocket. He gripped his arm tighter around the boy on his lap before Damian decided it was a good time as any for another attempt at freedom. “Hello?”

_“What the hell, Kon?!”_

Conner immediately pulled his phone away from his ear, the voice on the other shouting loud enough for everyone in the garden to hear. “Jeez, Dick, I can hear well enough.”

 _“Sorry, but you_ **_took Damian!_ ** _What the hell?!”_

“Bruce already said this wasn't my fault. The Brat tricked me.”

“I did not such thing,” Damian said, defending himself as he continued to eat like nothing was wrong. “I merely requested that you picked me up and you did.”

“Shut it, Damian,” Conner bit back, rolling his eyes.

_“Where are you? I don't see you anywhere.”_

“At the Manor. We’re having lunch with one of Bruce’s friends.”

There was a growl on the other end of the phone. _“Damn it, he was right. Alright, I'll be there as soon as possible. I have something I need to take care of right now. Jason went ahead of me a while ago, so good luck.”_

The other end hung up, and neither Conner nor Bruce looked too happy. “You're dealing with this,” the teenager told Damian, who didn't at all care.

“As if I can't handle Todd,” Damian said, reaching for the teapot, but it was a little too far out of reach into the metal tray, much to his annoyance.

Conner simply shook his head lightly as he picked up the teapot and placed it on the table for Damian, who didn't even acknowledge the favor done for him. The youngest Wayne took the pot and poured the steaming hot tea into his cup, filling up almost all the way. Then he looked up, the oppressive weight of his blue eyes nearly suffocating Edward. “Would you like a cup, Mister Kingston?” Damian offered, which must have been out of character for the boy as Conner gasped. Bruce remained expressionless.

Feeling the fuzziness in his hands, the blood rushing through his veins, Edward carefully pushed his empty cup towards Damian with a small grin. “I _am_ an Englishman,” he said, happily watching as Damian poured out the tea.

Damian set the teapot down and went back to his food, not looking at his father at all.

“Now that we’re settle down for lunch,” Bruce said with a charming smile, getting to his meal as well, “I should introduce you to Conner, Edward. He and Tim are currently dating, so he's pretty much one of mine. And Conner, this man is Edward Kingston, an old college buddy of mine.”

“I didn't know you had friends besides Clark,” Conner joked, laughing a little. The mood became less tense.

“My social skills aren't completely horrible,” Bruce replied, chuckling. “I have a lot of friends.”

“Sure, you do.” Conner didn't say anymore than that as he went back to his lunch, hiding a smile behind his fork.

Bruce sighed, as if he couldn't win against this argument. If someone had told Edward when he was still attending Gotham University that he would see Bruce exasperated by a mere teenager, the Englishman would have to them to check themselves into Arkham Asylum.

But then again, ten years was a very long time, and things tend to change. Edward can't say that the last decade has not done Bruce for the better. The Gothamite prince was more expressive now, with a family and a thriving company. He doubted there was anyone luckier in the world, especially if his children were just as beautiful. Edward felt a little envious, but the weight of Damian’s eyes on him was enough to distract him, replacing it with desire. The boy had yet to look at anyone else since they sat down, almost as if he was curious about Edward. The Englishman could only hope he was interesting enough to continue drawing Damian’s attention. It would make it easier on Edward’s part.

“What were we talking about earlier, Edward?” Bruce asked, shooting a look at his youngest. “Before we were interrupted.”

“I can't remember, actually,” Edward replied, partaking in the well-prepared lunch before him. “I was distracted by how pretty everyone in this Manor is, even if Conner is just Tim’s boyfriend.”

Conner blushed as Damian scoffed. “Th-thanks, Mister Kingston,” the teenager said, giving the older man a small smile, “but you should see my aunt though. She has a great smile and beautiful eyes.”

“'As blue as a clear morning sky mixed with sunlight clouds,’ right?” Bruce quoted, teasing the teenager to blush even deeper.

“Shut up, Bruce.”

Edward laughed, happy to witness such an interaction. “If she's as pretty as you say she is,” he told Conner, “then I'll be lucky if I ever do see her.”

Conner lit up. “Anyone would be. And if you ever get the chance, you should meet my friend Cassie and Raven. And have you met Steph or Babs yet? They're just _gorgeous_.”

“-tt- Brown is questionable,” Damian stated. “Your taste are questionable if you consider her pretty.”

“Mhmm, but I think Maya’s really pretty, like a princess.”

Damian frowned at the mention of that name. “You two have never met. I would know.”

“Yes, but Alfred has pictures of friends everyone in the Manor has. He showed some to me, Ma and Pa a few times. I think Maya looks great in that white summer dress.”

Damian pursed his lips, thinking carefully about what he was going to say next. “She does,” he finally admitted, not a bit begrudgingly.

“I'm not adopting another kid,” Bruce mumbled, close enough for Edward to hear it. “There's enough in my life already.”

“And there's that Colin kid, too, right?” Conner asked. “Man, what's up with this family and redheads?”

“There's nothing up with this family and redheads,” Bruce said, scoffing.

Conner looked at Bruce as if he said the sun was a red star, a look of total disbelief on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but the doors to the garden porch burst open loudly with a heavy kick by a young, tall man with a handsome, bad boy look to him, like he was a modern movie Greaser with tight black pants and a brown leather jacket zipped up. His blue eyes burned bright with irritation. He didn't stop to introduce himself, stomping his way toward the lunch table with a frown.

“ _Jason,”_ Bruce warned, upset by the sudden and rude entrance of the young man.

“I'm going to kick your ass, Brat,” the young man, Jason, spit out, glaring at the youngest who was unfazed and unimpressed.

“That is if you can,” Damian challenged nonchalantly, continuing on his lunch.

The young man turned to Conner, reaching his hands out. “Give him to me.”

Without question, Conner handed Damian to the young man, which gained a cry of protest from the youngest. “You're not holding him right,” the teenager said. “He'll slip out if you-”

Damian elbowed Jason in his face, hitting hard enough to make the older one accidentally loosen his grip, and the young Wayne slipped away. “Stop holding me!” he said, furious about being treated like a child. He grabbed the empty chair and pulled it with him, setting it in the empty space between his father and Edward, closer to the latter than the former. Like a child, maybe unknowingly, he pulled his lunch and his cup towards that seat and sat down, his chin held high at Jason. “Don't you see that we have a guest, Todd? Mind your manners.”

Jason gave Damian a look, shifting his eyes the next moment to Edward, taking in for the first time since he barged in of the Englishman, who was watching with amusement.

It had barely been half an hour, and he has seen so many interesting things and learned a lot more about Bruce in that short time compared to three years at University. “Edward Kingston,” the Englishman introduced himself first, holding a hand out properly.

Jason ignored it, grabbing an extra chair nearby and dropping on it, joining in on the lunch without a meal. He picked up an extra cup and poured himself a cup of tea. “So _you're_ the guy everyone's been talking about,” the young man simply said, the mood returning tense for some reason. Japan settled in as Bruce stayed silent, as if to let him take the lead for that afternoon. “You’re an Oxford graduate, right? I hear the curriculum’s impressive. You a fan of Austen or Brönte?”

Edward smiled, literature a favorite pastime of his. “I enjoy the classics as much as the next person,” he said, the day becoming even more pleasant, “but I'm more of a Wilde man myself. Though Tolkien will always have a place in my childhood memories.”

Jason grinned, and they launched into a discussion about literature, mostly by English writers which branched out to Tolstoy, Kafka, Sun Tzu, Faulkner and other classic novelists. There was brief praise here and there for their favorite poets as well, Keats, Butler, Wordsworth and Shelley to name a few. They touched a little on artists too, which Bruce joined in with a sentence or two for each painter and sculpture that was brought up. Conner perked up for musicians, and Damian showed interested in the philosophers. This was a very well educated family, Edward thought, a people he considered his own.

Lunch was interrupted for the third time when the eldest of Bruce’s children appeared, looking a little panicked and worried when he stepped out into the garden. “There you are,” he said, sighing in relief. “Don't do that again, Dami. You too Jason. Gotham is big enough without having to look for two wayward birds.”

“There's no need to look for me,” Damian said, sipping on his cup of tea.

Dick was not a bit impressed by that, his expression seeming unnatural to Edward even though the Englishman didn't know the eldest at all. Edward was sure he felt Dick’s blue eyes throwing daggers at him, though the smile on his attractive face did otherwise. “Scooch over, little D,” Dick said, coming around as he pulled another chair with him, standing between his baby brother and Edward.

Damian crossed his arms. “It's already crowded here as it is,” he reasoned none too happily. “Go sit next Kent and Todd.”

Dick gave him a smile, deciding he would have a better chance at getting what he wanted by reaching out to grab Damian, who paled a little in worry of being caught by the grabby hands of his oldest brother. So he ducked, getting out from his seat, and figuring out the safer choice, Damian pulled at Edward’s arm, much to the older man’s surprise.

“Let me sit with you, Mister Kingston,” the boy nearly pleaded, his lower lip stuck out in a light pout. It was as if he was presenting himself for Edward, and the older man felt his heart skip a beat, the next pumping twice as much blood throughout his entire body.

“Damian,” Dick whined, but Edward ignored it, no longer able to stop the smile growing on his face.

“Of course,” Edward said, pushing his seat a little back and patting his lap. “I don't have any siblings myself, but I've heard they can be such a pain sometimes.”

He might had heard Conner gasped quietly, but he was too focused on watching Damian climb onto his lap to care, the boy’s smaller frame fitting his larger one almost perfectly. Damian was a lot lighter than Edward expected, almost like a feather, and when the young Wayne leaned back almost comfortably against his chest, the Englishman was sure his heart would burst. In order to hold back on how happy he was, Edward kept his hands at his side, holding back on the desire to embrace the beautiful boy and take off with him right there and then. It wasn't the right time yet.

Edward, however, was nearly taken back by red flares he had received when he looked back up. He felt as if he was nearly choking on the air in his own lungs when he realized that Dick was glaring icy daggers into his very soul. Jason’s glare too was intense, his irritation burning darkly now. But it was Bruce surprisingly who frightened Edward the most; never had he seen, or expected,  that kind of emotion from his old friend before, Bruce’s eyes, emptied and devoid. It was a dull shine of indifference that glazed over his blue eyes, a dreadful mixture of freezing hot that left the flesh both burnt and frostbitten, as if his old friend had already tried him and sentenced him to condemnation without mercy for a crime the Englishman unknowingly committed.

It made Edward feel that he had become very fortunate, able to draw the silent wrath of three beautiful, and no doubt powerful and willful, men all because Damian chose _him_ out of all of them. The ebbing fear at the back of his throat itched at his skin, but the ecstasy of being chosen drowned out the pain.

Conner cleared his throat, also aware of the current atmosphere. “How are you liking Gotham, Mister Kingston?” he asked, trying to move the conversation along. “Tim never mentioned you before so you must be new here. “

Edward shook his head, not moving a finger despite that he wanted to. “I was a student at Gotham University a long time ago, Conner,” he explained. “I was three years Bruce’s senior and his beauty and his intelligence drew me in, as it did many others. But I was persistent and I gain some reward for my efforts.”

Jason then stood up, walking off the porch into the large garden before it with a wave of his hand. “It’s getting late,” he gave as a lame excuse to dismiss himself. “Tell Alfred I'll be there for dinner Saturday. You better watch yourself, Damian.”

Conner looked up like he was checking the position of the sun. “It's almost 3,” he stated, getting up too. “Kara and I will be here Saturday too. See you then, I guess.” Edward had never seen someone walk out so fast on two feet. It was like he was floating away on an invisible cloud.

And he suppose it was time for him to go as well, the Englishman taking a look at his silver watch. Conner was right; it was almost 3. And it was feeling as if he was beginning to overstay his welcome, the disapproving starting to get to him. As much as he wanted to stay with Damian, he had better not too much over the line. The older Waynes seemed to be very protective over the youngest, and Edward must do everything to remain on their good side. It may take a while to earn that other's trust, but it would all come together in the end.

“I should get going too,” Edward said, taking the chance, however, to ruffle Damian’s hair a little, to which he was glad to say that the boy did not protest against. He was gaining a little trust. “Thank you so much, Bruce, for the lunch. You have such a lovely family.”

Bruce’s glare immediately disappeared, standing up. “Of course,” he replied politely, “what are friends for? I'm glad to see you again.”

“Me too, and to meet your family is such a good treat. I've extended my stay in Gotham by another few more weeks, so whenever you have the time, we should do this again. Jason is a good conversationalist.”

And without so much as another thought, Edward wrapped an arm around Damian’s waist, feeling the taut muscles, and lifted the boy up as he stood up from his seat. Unlike with Conner, Jason and Dick, Damian seemed unresistant in Edward’s hold, gripping the arm around him firmly like he was holding onto a safety net. “Let me walk you out, Mister Kingston,” the boy said, leaning his head back far enough to look Edward with his pure blue eyes.

“That's not something I would be adverse to,” Edward smoothly agreed, slowing himself not to seem too interested. He carefully put Damian down, and then to his surprise again, Damian grabbed him by the sleeve, pulling him towards the front entrance. Edward heard Dick speak a foreign language as they entered back into the Manor, but he didn't pay too much attention to it as Damian was walking him out of the estate. “Your brothers didn't seem too happy. Neither did you father.”

“Don't mind them,” Damian told him, still pulling on the Englishman’s sleeve. It was a gently pull. “They think they can decide what's best for me and expect me to follow through completely. I, for one, can make my own decisions.”

Edward raised a curious eyebrow. “And where do I fit in this?”

“My family aren't very open to strangers coming into the Manor, even if you're my father’s friend, so your presence throws them off. But I'm not too worried about you. You seem very trustworthy, Mister Kingston. Father likes you well enough and even invited you over for lunch.”

Edward chuckled. “It's good to hear. Am I trustworthy enough that I can take you somewhere? Where do you like to go, Damian? The zoo? The beach?”

“The zoo,” Damian confessed, a little quiet. He turned his head around over his shoulder, not pausing in his steps. “Tomorrow.”

“That sounds excited. Where can I pick you up? And what time?”

“I'll have Pennyworth drop me off there around noon. I'll meet you there, Mister Kingston?”

Edward felt his lips smile. “I would love that,” he said. “It's a date.”

They reached the door, and Damian opened the door for Edward, gesturing the way out. “Good-bye, Mister Kingston,” the boy said, his expression soft. “I'll see you soon.”

Edward nodded, cheering loudly on the inside, and he slipped out the door, caressing Damian’s cheek as he passed through. “Good-bye, Damian.”

The door closed behind him quietly.

.

.

.

 _ <I will not allow that man near my brother ever again.*_> Dick spoke, the words seething out from his tongue smoothly like Juliet’s poison. Bruce frowned, feeling that Dick’s emotions were getting out of hand, but it was expected, his oldest son, at times, capable of being both possessive and protective. Sometimes, the two seemed to mix together in Dick’s own way, sometimes blurring and almost crossing lines that should not be crossed. _ <What is Damian planning? He has never acted this way.> _

_ <They taught it to him.> _ Jason said, coming out of his hiding spot behind the large elephant shaped bush. He combed his hair with his hand. _ <The al Ghüls were very thorough in his education.> _

Bruce frowned even more. Damian was only eleven.

 _ <What is this?_> Kon said, floating from above. He dropped onto the ground, confused but getting to the picture. _ <That man is dangerous. I recognize your hostility towards him. Why was I not told of this?> _

_ <It was not meant to reach this point.> _ Bruce explained, sighing. _ <Damian was not to be home until sunset.> _

Kon clenched his fist, upset. _ <He used me.> _

_ <Remember you are not at fault, Kon. We will review our course of action when Stephanie and Cassandra return. I may send Damian to Smallville if I believe he will continue to act without informing me. He respects Martha and Jonathan enough not to cause any trouble for them.> _

_ <How we will get him there without a struggle _ ?> Jason added. _ <The child is stubborn and impulsive. He will not let us take him easily. You saw the way he lied and pretended, as if he was a completely different person. He sat on the lap of that man willingly.> _

_ <Distract him.> _ Dick suggested, crossing his arms. _ <Distract that man. Maybe each of us will take a turn to interact with him on our own.> _

_ <No.> _ Conner immediately said _. <I do not trust him, and I can tell none of you like him. I say to keep Damian away from that man. He may not be a danger, but to associate with him longer than necessary . . . would end badly. Kal would not be happy to hear about him, and neither will Kara. I myself am not pleased.> _

Bruce tapped his knuckle onto the table, a loud sound that stopped anyone from speaking until he had his say. _ <I agree with Kon.> _ the Wayne patriarch said. _ <It is best to distract Damian instead. Would it be acceptable for him to join you periodically for the next few weeks until the matter is sorted out?> _

_ <You send him to Blüdhaven at any time, Bruce.> _Dick jumped in.

 _ <I am willing to bring him with me when I return to Roy and Kori.> _ Jason added, his concern over weighting his usual attitude. _ <The child can use some time off of Earth.> _

_ <I will tell Tim about this.> _ Conner said, nodding his head _. <And we can decide on the best time to bring him to the Titans. My team will need some time to prepare for him.>_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *All translated from Kryptonian. -- AKnightOfAGoodKing


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

_Not to his left or to his right,_  
_lovely Persephone lives in his heart,_  
_her hands wrapped around his neck_  
 _like the flowers adorning Death._  
1.3

Damian was aware of what his father had decided to do about Kingston. He heard the conversation in the garden patio, eavesdropping and slipping away before Kon-El noticed his presence.

To say that Damian was upset about matters being decided without him was not so much as an understatement as an understanding. For the first ten years of his life, Damian didn't grow up with people who supported him like Grayson did or taunted him with underlying affection as Drake. He lacked much outwardly expressed love in his childhood, something slowly remedied the longer he was also Damian Wayne, not just Al Ghül. Damian loved his mother and grandfather, but he also loved how free he felt living in Gotham, the chances to fly and to choose abundant. Here, he was able to decide who he wanted to be, not only submitted either to being heir to the Demon Head or the successor of Batman. He was still adamant of taking over his father’s mantle when the time comes, but in the end, he got to decided that he was. It was why he understood this kind of protectiveness being cast over him without permission, but it did not mean that he had to accept it quietly. No, he was going to take care of Kingston himself because he, prideful as a Wayne and an al Ghül, could take care of himself and he was not simply going to let others wait on him hand and foot, not anymore.

And because of that, he was hesitant for his plan to trap Kingston would involve playing with his family's trust. But the plan was already in play, inviting Kingston to spend the day with him. It was the first step to get the Englishman to fall to his acting, of being interested, maybe even passing as a naive rich kid. Adult socialites loved that. However, he knew he could not stay in the Manor, lest someone tried to interrupt his plans and stop him. Damian had to leave for a little while. He would return and inform his family of any new news when he returned. Father would be proud for his smart thinking. Father would've done it himself, and in many ways, he had, playing the idiot playboy to lower everyone else’s guard. Damian was merely imitating the very successful tactic.

That was why, when he stopped eavesdropping, he started to walk out the door, slow and careful as to not set off even the most illogical superstition.

“Master Damian,” Pennyworth said from the threshold of the kitchen, his face showing the rare expression of challenge. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Out, Pennyworth,” Damian replied. He must not flinch nor stumble. The old Butler was very observant, and he must play cool and confident. It was odd how natural it felt to be so, forcing this kind of persona when it was more than acceptable for his to do his usually reply of snark with a growl. Did Father feel this way sometimes? Was it why he played Brucie so well? “I'm going to visit Colin. We're going to the theater tomorrow.”

Pennyworth raised an eyebrow. “Tomorrow is Thursday. Shouldn't Mister Wilkes be in school?”

“It's a holiday tomorrow.”

“Which one?”

Damian was stumped. He didn't think it this far. He didn't expect Pennyworth to catch him so soon. “Pupil free day,” he then said, going back to what he remembered during his short time at Gotham Academy. It was nearly May, the end of the school year. “Finals are coming up, and the teachers are given extra time to ready themselves and their students for it. Despite how poorly funded of a school Colin goes to, they care enough to make sure their standards are kept.”

“Hmm. I see. Why don't you inform your father of your plans? I'll ready the car for you.”

“It's _fine_ , Pennyworth. I'll tell Father when I return. And I can walk. I'm not an invalid.”

“I insist, Master Damian. Besides, I believe your father may want a word with you alone about your behavior today. You should wait for him in your room.”

The look in Pennyworth’s eyes dared him to refuse, dared him to bolt right there and then. It was a look for him to make a mistake. “Fine then,” Damian forced himself to say, and he turned himself around and started walking towards the stairs that led to his room. He must play the willing prey to trick the overconfident predators.

He felt Pennyworth watch him until he was out of view. At that moment, Damian did as he was told, but he carefully searched himself to check for any devices. There was not a person in this family who didn't have his own personal tracking device and had not yet planted on everyone else. He found four, three his father's and one Grayson’s.

When he entered his room, Damian estimated how much time he had left before his father got here. The time window was very small but doable if he didn't hesitate now. Thirty seconds, he threw Grayson's device through the air duct in the wall, hearing its soft clanking as it bounced on the metal. Twenty-eight seconds, he opened the window, checking the area and then climbing down the side of the Manor. Twenty seconds, he was making his way towards the forestry that surrounded towards the back of the estate. Ten seconds, he went in search of his personal motorbike with the quietest engine hidden under thick layers of shrubbery. Five seconds, the bike was on, and Damian was driving away from the Manor, ignoring the tic to look behind him. When he drove through the city, he stopped three times to catch free wandering cats with collars momentarily. He placed his father’s devices on them and set them free.

Now he needed a place to stay for the night before he and Kingston have their _date._ He had to cross out Colin, a precaution used prematurely only to fail before the plan was executed. And he couldn't stay at any of the safe houses. They would search those first. And Dr. Thompson's. And obviously, he could not be see by GCPD. Commissioner Gordon would be the first to inform Batman.

Then a bizarre idea struck him. There was really only one person who could truly manipulate and distract his father, within reason, because she wasn't afraid of the Batman or any other vigilante. And she and his father had been in love once, married and had a daughter in one universe already. There were millions more where that came from. Damian never trusted her, a thief and part of the Batman’s rogue gallery like a common criminal, but he could believe that she would help him. Selina Kyle always had a knack for opposing his father, whether to tease him or show that she could. It helped that she was a very good liar as well.

For an hour, Damian carefully walked through the streets of the city, searching for a cat. There were hundreds of strays in Gotham alone but only a small percentage had specially designed collars decorated with stolen diamonds and other gems. Kyle liked to give gifts to her regulars. It was a corner away Arkham that he spotted one, a plain black cat stalking the side of the building as if to watch the world make one bad step. Around its neck, there was a soft red colored collar, a silver fish hanging off from it. Damian carefully kept his distance as he followed it diligently, waiting for the moment it would return to its human friend. Kyle did not have many safe houses, and yet she liked to switch around ever so often as not to create a regular routine. She still kept a permanent housing in a penthouse downtown, a couple miles away from Drake’s, but Damian was more certain that the cat would lead him to her than to go see for himself.

It didn't take long before the black cat decided to go back, unknowingly leading Damian to a nice little area in uptown Gotham, one of the brighter places in the dreary city. It was located next to a garden park sponsored by his father, so she must be keeping in better contact with Poison Ivy. Damian hoped not because Ivy had been becoming more of a nuisance since she and Harley Quinn began their intense relationship. “Welcome home, my precious kitty,” he heard Kyle said as the cat slipped in an open window. “Come here to Mama.”

The cat meowed, nuzzling its face against Kyle’s outreached hand. Damian hoped she would let him play with her cats if she didn't refuse him. “Kyle,” he said, announcing himself as he went in through the window.

Kyle perked up a bit, not expecting a guest. She raised a delicate eyebrow, laying down on her side on the floor literally surrounded by a dozen cats. Damian had to resist the urge to walk over and do the same. He didn't know how she did it, but cats’ attraction for her also drew him in. “Damian,” she greeted with a half smile, her sharp eyes watching him, “what are you doing here?”

“I'm conducting an investigation and need a place to stay for the night,” he answered vaguely.

She caught that. “You know that's not good enough. What investigation and why are you hiding from Bruce?”

Damian frowned, hoping she would just say yes. He supposed she would be hesitant with the son of the man she once loved. It was not like she was bitter about losing his father to Kal-El, but she was smart, smart enough to know when anyone was hiding something. She knew to know the whole picture first. Father still claimed her as one of his closest friends, a confident outside the Cave and Manor. So in a way, Damian kind of understood, or at least knew, why Kyle was the woman - bar from his mother, of course, because she still loved him -  his father had the most problem dealing with. She was dangerous to his father because she had nothing to lose. Unlike his mother, Kyle was not bound by blood or honor, living by her own code, a code that aligned with Father’s a lot more often than expected. What more, unlike his mother, Kyle was not an al Ghül first and everything else second.

Damian knew, and truly believed that his mother loved him, but even he knew that there were some things much more important than one’s own child, be it their life purpose or another’s. When it came to her, Father didn't have to choose because Talia chose her father over love. Talia chose power over Father. But Kyle, she didn't come from a prestigious lineage. She was common blood but shone as diamonds she stole. Her life was not covered with silk and gold, so she took her chances. Now look where it brought her, living the life of a worldly infamous thief who fought and loved the Batman. Truly, there was fewer women Damian believed who were capable of mothering a generation of better, smarter leaders of tomorrow, be they villain or hero. He believed that Kyle was one of the reasons his father chose Kal-El, because the Kryptonian was dangerous but, like the Batman, had so much to lose, family, friends, a private life. Kal-El made this planet and all of its inhabitants his priority, and he would do everything he could to save them. Kyle, born on this planet, did not. In her own ways, she was a hero, but he doubt she would sacrifice her life for the greater good. Damian had no qualms with her on that. Not everybody was a hero, and that was okay. The fate of the world always rested upon the shoulder of mighty Titans, and Kyle had long ago decided that she did not want to be one of them.

“I'm investigating an old friend of Father’s,” he explained, sitting down by the closest cat, orange and fluffy, “a man by Edward Kingston. He has . . . taken a liking to me, much more than the rest are comfortable with. Cassandra believes that he is a predator. However, they've also decided to keep me out of the fray. I've elect that I can take care of this matters by myself.”

“And how will you do that?” she asked, curious. She might be coming to the same conclusion Damian had.

“By acting the part.”

Kyle chuckled, shaking her head already. “No way, kid,” she immediately replied. “I like cats better than people, but I'm not completely heartless. I'm going to have Richard come back here ready to tear down these walls if he ever hear I helped you play jail bait. What will Bruce say about that?”

“It doesn't matter what Father will say, Kyle. I can do this, and you won't have a direct hand in the matter. I've arranged a meeting with Kingston at the beach and left the Manor before anyone could stop me from going. I need a place to stay until then, without being found. You and I both know no one will be happy about this, but I want to do this.”

She looked at him, her sharp golden eyes almost seemingly bearing into his own blue eyes, not a hint of amusement or disgust on her face. Instead, she shrugged, deciding to go with the plan. If there was one thing Kyle did not like, it was being told what to do. “You can stay,” she said, going back to petting her cats, “but only for the night. And I _will_ be coming along with you, Damian. I'll be your nanny or something.”

Damian frowned again, but he nodded. There wasn't much he could do if he wanted a shelter from his family’s hunt to retrieve him. They'll look for him the entire night, Kon-El included, but none would think to look for him here, save for his father. He could easily hide himself from Kon-El by doing some practiced breathing exercises. Apparently, when his heart beat, it beat much like his father.

“You can stay in the guest room on the left,” Kyle told him, purring. “I'll throw your father out when he comes by. You better not run away, Damian.”

Damian nodded. “Thank you,” he said, not moving from where he sat. The orange cat had placed itself on his lap, and from the many times he interacted with Alfred, he learned to never move a cat when it had settled. He had no choice but to stay put.

.

.

.

It was around one in the morning when he heard his father come in the same way he did, silent as he slipped through the open window. Damian was lying on the bed of the guest room. He kept silent, not moving as he listened in through the walls, making out the voices and words. “Selina,” Father said, voice less rough. He usually reserved that tone for quiet conversation, a rare thing to his colleagues. “Have you seen Robin?”

“Good evening to you, Bruce,” Kyle replied flirtatiously.

Damian could tell it just pretend because there wasn't any sound if movement. He had reviewed and watched hundreds of hours of footage of key characters in Gotham and the Batman’s circle when he was in the League. _To aid you in taking down your father’s enemies,_  his mother reminded him. Kyle, when she was genuine or trying, made movements along with her words, a caress there and a touch here. She moved with a purpose, but she did not move now.

“Haven't seen him,” she continued. “I've been taking care of Mister Earl here. I can't blame anyone for making sure the biker took two weeks to recover too.”

“. . . I see. Thank you.”

Then he heard his father silently slip out of the window and not the sound of Kyle stopping him. Father gave up so easily because he trusted Kyle, and Kyle lied. Damian sometimes wondered about that, about his father, Kal-El and Kyle. It was an odd trio, one person to drastically change the entire atmosphere and reputation. If she was Wonder Woman, the Justice League would have celebrated and the underworld would tremble on its knees. If she was Wonder Woman, the dynamic would be a lot less awkward and more things would have been said. Wonder Woman would have bent Father’s will with her own, not by lies. Her very strength came from truth. But the matter, and the past in question, did not involve Wonder Woman in one of the main roles. Instead, she was Kyle. Funny that it was always Kyle. Damian wasn't entirely sure though. He wasn't yet born when Father crashed into love with Kyle while his heart slowly ebbed its way to Kal-El. It was a particular thing how the heart can split itself into pieces, and Damian imagined it like that.

The story went sort of like this, in  a simpler and more childish  way: Once, in a night which stretched long over the day, Batman and Catwoman met for the first time, a diamond between them. She was the thief and he was the hero, and they clashed. But Batman's heart nearly broke itself completely when it slammed right into her hands. He did everything he could to get it back because he couldn't let anybody know he had such a thing. Anyone could use it against him, even her. However, he never did get it back. He couldn't. She was simply too strong and she loved him too. Instead, it crumbled away over a long time, and a kind Kryptonian breeze returned and swept the hero away, Batman’s heart slipping through her finger like sand. His heart began to reassemble itself, solidifying again as Batman began to realize where it settled, nestled in a man made like steel. It was nearly whole again, but there would always be some pieces left in Catwoman’s hands because that was how hearts worked. Once something was loved, it remained so, even if it was loved a long time ago. It was why Grayson, Todd and Drake still loved their mothers and fathers and mourned them. It was why Cain did too. It was why Brown was bitter about hers. It was why Father believed Kyle.

Damian turned to his side, thinking about his thoughts. He never realized how much he thought about Kyle and his father. He never realized how much he thought about other people.

.

.

.

They arrived fifteen minutes before the prearranged time, and Selina the Nanny was dressed inconspicuously, a colorful scarf over her short black hair and a pair of sunglasses. When she walked, her heels made a rhythmic sound, every step elegant and melodious. Damian had caught a few men and women stare at her, and she smiled, tipping her sunglasses low enough to give them a wink and turning way.

“You lied,” Selina pointed out when they arrived. “Remember, Damian, if you're going to go play alone, I'm calling Alfred.”

Damian clicked his tongue. “Of course,” he replied, taking the deal. “I suppose you did your research in Kingston.” It wasn't a question.

“Of course,” Selina replied with a smirk. “He's too clean not to be a bit suspicious. Heir to a metal refinery company from his late father. He managed to triple its profit in five years and steadily growing. His name is common place in England, but he doesn't have much of a public face, showing up mostly for charities and benefits. The oddest thing about him is that he's still a bachelor. I know a lot of people would throw themselves at him.”

“He may be a preferential hebephile,” Damian started, searching for Kingston in the crowd if he had come early. “He’s interested in Father, but from Cain’s observation of Kingston, he seems to prefer a younger target. My resemblance to Father and age ultimately attracted him.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “They're not going to be happy when this is all over.”

“Yes, and I'll accept any punishment afterwards. My family needs to know that I can take care of myself and not to leave me out just because I am the target. The sentiment is appreciated, but I am not an invalid.”

Selina chuckled, smiling at Damian as if she knew something he had yet to know. “You know, Bruce isn't the only person who tells me things,” she told him. “Most of them actually do. Dick does when he see me around. He doesn't tell me everything, of course, just little snippets. And he told me about how proud he is of you. He loves you. Tim, we only talk during socials really. Bruce always tells me that you and Tim fight a lot, but he cares. He's known for telling snobs off whenever they talk badly about you, and anyone else in the family. Jason doesn't talk to me as a general rule, unless it's for business, but I can read him pretty well since he was a kid. He puts himself in front of you during alleyway fights and catches you more times than I have fingers. And there's Cassandra and Stephanie. We've only been on a few girls’ days out together because why not, but I can tell they care about you. Cassandra always calls you her little brother and Stephanie always calls you our little Demon Brat. And Oracle has as many cameras on you as she does on everyone else whenever she could. And don't forget Alfred. That man loves you. He simply adores you too.”

Damian looked down, his face flushed almost red. “Why are you telling me this?” he said, clicking his tongue.

Selina couldn't help but place a hand on Damian’s head, chuckling as he struggled halfheartedly to push away her attempt to. “You're not being treated as an invalid, you spoiled brat,” she said. “They worry about you, and keeping you out of harm’s way is them trying to protect you.”

Damian clicked his tongue. “As I said, the sentiment is appreciated.”

“You better accept the consequences, or you're forbidden from coming back to the cats for a year.”

Damian huffed, nodding his head. “I merely wish to show them that I don't need to be sheltered. I can help too, Kyle. They need to be more conscious of that.”

Ah, and that was what Bruce told her about. Damian’s desire to prove himself as part of the family. It was cute, Selina thought, as she silently chuckled. Bruce had said that the boys and girls both had dealt with that problem because they were kids picked up by the terrifying Batman who turned out a lot kinder than first believed. And most of them eased into comfortableness, from Dick remaining his greatest ally to Cassandra priding herself as his daughter.

 _“Damian feels like he always needs to prove himself. He isn't as aware that he doesn't need too. The idea of bonding by love isn't alien to him, but he also feels the need to validate himself, to be worthy of being loved. And that, Miss Selina, is what scares me the most.”_ Alfred, by all means, was the most thoughtful person in the family, the man who raised Bruce on his lonesome and helped with a dozen more kids later on. And so by default, he was the most worried, the most concerned, and the most scared because he, compared to everyone else, was on the sidelines, the moral support that did what was asked of him. He was the oldest member, so Selina knew he worried about leaving first, despite the family’s constant peril and danger. He wasn't ready to die.

“They know, Damian,” Selina said out loud. “It's just you who doesn't.”

Damian frowned, looking like an over exaggerated student of an old and wise martial arts master, and he was about to replied with a scoff when someone came up to them. “Damian,” a blond man in his mid- to late-thirties called out, dressed appropriately for the late spring season. He had only eyes for Damian, not even noticing the very attractive Selina who had been drawing eyes for the last ten minutes.

“Mister Kingston!” Damian shouted, too happy than he ever expressed towards anyone. That made Selina raise an eyebrow in slight surprise. Luckily her sunglasses hid any signs of that.

The man smiled, believing the tone. “Please call me Edward. It's only fair.”

“Of course, Ed- Mister Edward,” Damian said, playing shy.

Selina cleared her throat to draw their attention before Damian could get too into character. Method acting was one way of acting, but it could also be one of the most dangerous. The human brain was capable of tricking itself, turning ice water into scalding lava. “Hello,” she greeted, holding it her hand to the man, “Selina Kyle, close friend of the family and occasional nanny. It's nice to meet you.”

The man was a little perplexed but quickly picked himself up, shaking her hand. “Edward Kingston,” he told her, sparing a smile. “Bruce never mentioned you.”

Selina inwardly smile at the lack of politeness towards her, a stranger. It was obvious Kingston didn't care for her at all. How rude.

“I'm sorry, Mister Edward,” Damian said, smoothing out the outlier that was Selina. He put on a softer expression, looking only at Kingston. “Pennyworth had to run an errand the entire day and asked Miss Selina to take care of me. I told him I could take care of myself, but Pennyworth likes to be very careful. But she promised it'll be our day, just you and I, Mister Edward.”

God, it felt surreal to watch Damian act like that. It reminded Selina of Brucie, a mean to an end, but it was worrisome on the part that it felt sort of genuine, like Damian actually wanted to come to the zoo with Kingston. It was odd. Selina instantly regretted going along with Damian. She felt played.

“Come on, Mister Edward!” Damian gleefully said, grabbing Kingston by the hand and pulling the Englishman towards the lions.

“Oh, yes,” Kingston immediately replied, obviously too happy to ignore Selina, who silently walked a few feet behind them.

She watched as Damian and Kingston went around the zoo, observing their interactions. She noticed that Damian was doing everything he could to touch Kingston in some way, holding onto the Englishman's hand or pulling  at his shirt, and his expressions were nothing but excited and nearing wanting to please the older man as he also played shy. It was like watching some middle school girl having a crush on a high school boy and she was willing to do anything to get him to go out with her. Selina felt vile and wanted to know who exactly taught Damian how to act this way. Then she wanted to know where this person was so she could personally cave their face in. " _Damian feels like he always needs to prove himself . . . to be worthy of being loved."_ That man was always spot on, echoing in her mind.

Suddenly, it was nearing three o’clock when Selina couldn't stand this facade any longer. The two of them, Damian and Kingston, were sitting on the benches as Selina was still watching them from the food vendor, and Kingston was holding out French fries to the boy like he was feeding some sort of pet. She finally decided to call it in, believing that Damian was letting this go too far, when Damian accepted the offered food, not by hand but by mouth. She was thankful she decided to wear sunglasses, as they did everything to hide her glare on Kingston who found no qualms from Damian eating out of his hand. It seemed as if it was a common thing for the British man.

Selina made the decision to make one call. She trusted one man because she had to.

_“Hello? Selina?”_

“Hello, Clark,” she spoke, keeping her eyes on the two, and her grip on her phone tightened as she watched Edward take the liberty to wipe away a ketchup stain off Damian’s lip and licked it off his thumb. “You should be getting off work by now. I need you to pick Damian up from Gotham Zoo.”

_“Is he okay? Is he hurt? Did he try to take the penguins again?”_

“He is fine . . . for the most part. He's undercover, trying to draw attention from one Edward Kingston. I called you because Damian’s trying to hide away from everyone else. He wants to deal with this himself, but I believe everyone has decided that Kingston is dangerous to Damian. I need you to come here as soon as possible and take him home.”

There was a moment of silence, probably Clark shaking his head that Bruce hadn't told him anything. _“I'm going to clock out soon. Keep an eye on him. I'll be there, I swear. Thanks, Selina.”_

Selina hummed in acknowledgement and hung up. She interrupted the two, taking a seat beside Damian with a brilliant smile. “Damian, I have some good news for you,” she said. “Clark called and said he managed to get an extra day off this weekend, and he's already back in Gotham.”

She saw the millisecond of Damian’s eyes widened in surprise. He had not thought that she would tell on him, but he immediately picked himself up. “He's going to see Father first, right?” he asked almost innocent. “They never get enough time together.”

Kingston raised an eyebrow in question, not knowing how Clark was obviously. “And who is this Clark?” he asked nonchalantly, trying not to show any jealousy.

Selina nearly bristled, but she continued to smile. “Oh, Bruce didn't tell you?” she asked as if it was scandalous. “I guess Gotham gossip doesn't really go out of the East Side much, does it? Clark’s Damian’s stepfather.”

“Bruce got married?” Kingston asked incredulously.

Selina chuckled. “They might as well be, but not yet, officially. Bruce told me they've decided on a spring wedding.”

“Well, I'll be glad to see Clark after this date is finished, Miss Selina,” Damian butted in to stop Selina from putting Kingston in emotional distress.

“But there's the surprise though,” Selina countered.

Damian nearly frowned. “ _What_ surprise?”

She didn't answer because a large pair of hands came from behind them, covering Damian’s eyes as if to playfully hide the obvious surprise. “Surprise, Damian,” Clark said with a small smile, his shoulders hunched and his thick glasses covering his handsome face.

Selina would've paid a million dollars to capture the look of shock on Kingston’s face.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

_Loke, Loke_  
_drip, drip, drip._  
_Gods, they've ate your boy_  
_to mourn the missing moon._  
2.1

He was gone. Bruce knew it, felt it as if the walls of the Manor were his bones and the hallways his veins. There, in Bruce’s being, was a missing piece that ran away, not to anger anyone but to prove himself.

“He's gone,” Bruce stated before Alfred could say a word to him after everyone else left the estate to deal to their own business. They wouldn't be back until after patrol, but Bruce didn't feel the need to alert any of them just yet. He was waiting for Cassandra and Stephanie to come back from their investigation.

“He is,” Alfred replied, unhappy and strained. “We should call Master Conner back to help us find him.”

“No, we'll wait. Damian can take care of himself, and we need to know more of the picture before we do anything.”

“And let Master Damian go out on his own, purposely dancing his way into the hands of some _pervert?_ ” Alfred bit out. He was definitely unhappy now, a frown marring his usually neutral face.

Bruce felt somewhat guilty when Alfred said that, most likely still off put by the many attempts at him when he was younger. There was just something about a young, defenseless boy all alone in the world that drew out the sickly sweet side of people, wanting to baby him out of pity and take care of him unnecessarily. The family fortune only added more to why they wanted him. Some had even gone as far as to proposition Alfred to care for Bruce for a week as a reason to give the older man a break from a traumatised child. Bruce used to give them the benefit of the doubt that they wanted to not for the reputation, but one seething look at a socialite gentleman convinced him otherwise. Since then, Alfred had become sensitive to any of these _interests_ in Bruce, his outlook stretched out to the growing family.

“We'll assess the situation fully when Cassandra and Stephanie come back,” he said, leaving no room for any more arguments. The corner of Alfred’s lips twitched, but the neutral expression returned to him. “Are they headed this way yet? They should have had more than enough time to check out the entire floor.”

They started walking down to the Batcave. “Nearly,” Alfred informed him, “five miles. Master Bruce, judging from Conner’s initial reaction to Kingston, can I safely assume that you have not told Clark or Kara either?”

Bruce chose not to reply as he pulled up all the files on Edward in the database. He wanted a quick refresher on what was and was not known about his friend from university.

Alfred sighed. “Bruce, I should warn you,” he began, “that despite your strong love for Clark, even the most trustworthy man in the world will start to doubt if they're never told anything. Maybe I understand why you kept it from Conner and Kara, but definitely not Clark. They’ll learn to forgive you, but Clark will start questioning himself and his position in this relationship.

“When you first admitted to me that you had feelings for the man, I was ecstatic because you've opened once again. And lo and behold, almost two decades later, you two are in love with a whole brood of children and a legacy to leave behind. And that, Master Bruce, is what I want my legacy to be, to see all of you grow and love while I still live and breathe. So it'll be over my stone cold corpse that I'll let this pass you without a fight. Talk to him, apologies and tell him everything. You don't have to justify why you hesitated. I just need you to try and fix your mistakes. Think about that while I bring down some lunch for the two misses.”

Bruce listened to Alfred’s footsteps disappearing out of the cave as he reread the files. He knew what they say and what they didn't say. He had read them dozens of times. Everyone had. They had to be prepared, and him most of all.

However, for a spare moment, he did think about what Alfred said, and the weight of his words, what his oldest friend wanted. And it was all for him. It had always been all for him. Sometimes, to lessen the severity, Bruce liked to think it was because Alfred was a very selfish man. He had put so much pressure on Bruce to be happy. But then the weight would return at full force with as undeniable guilt because Alfred was right - he was always right - and the weight of his words could bring only happiness.

And Alfred had done a fine job, brilliant, because here Bruce was, one of the richest people on earth, urban legend of Gotham, revered guardian of the galaxy, father of many children and in love with one of the kindest people in the universe. It was because of Alfred that Bruce was the luckiest man to have ever lived, and he should've never be anything but grateful and groveling at the older’s feet.

The quiet purr of a motor bike drowned into the cave, pulling Bruce back into the real world. “What did you find?” he asked, checking up on his other current case with the mafia and the human trafficking approaching Gotham’s shore.

“Nothing,” Stephanie stated, letting Cassandra get off the bike first. They took off their helmet, grimaces on their faces. “We searched the whole floor, and there was nothing out of place. He didn't even buy an extra room, and there weren't any strange people hanging around. But a catch: he didn't have anything personal or important in the room he paid for, except for a closet full of suits and shoes.”

“Need to check the entire hotel,” Cassandra suggested. “Didn't have enough time. 15 out of 25”

Bruce thought on that, recalling his public schedule for the next month. “Next Friday, Bruce Wayne will be going on a weekend cruise,” he said thoughtfully. “I'll make sure Edward is invited and on the boat by 8PM. Any evidence that can prove Cassandra's premise needs to be recorded. Any evidence found needs to be investigated. However, do nothing until I look them over and come up with the next step.”

Stephanie scoffed, most likely disliking the instructions. Half for doing nothing until further notice; half for being instructions given by him. Sometimes, Bruce was sure his proteges do things to spite him, not out of hate but because they lacked the fear to be intimidated by him. Anyone else would begrudgingly accept, but not any of his children, especially the one that wasn't actually his but came over enough times to probably be mistaken as such.

“That is only if we deem nothing to be alarming or suspicious,” she stated. “And really? You're going on a weekend cruise with that creep, Bruce? You're just as hard headed as Damian if you think that's a good idea.”

“Here, here,” Cassandra agreed, nodding her head. Bruce was grateful his daughter had someone who understood her as well as Stephanie did in her life. He loved her dearly, but he knew he wasn't enough. Stephanie made up for everything he lacked, and from personal experience, he lacked a lot of things. “Too private. Risky and stupid, Bruce. Invite him to a party instead.”

“Much better, Cass. You should invite Arrow too, B, since Kingston would definitely like men, not women, draped over your arms.”

Bruce frowned. “There isn't any parties coming up soon,” he explained, “not one Bruce Wayne would show up to for longer than an hour.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes, holding up a hand. “Except for anything Bruce Wayne throws himself,” she reminded. “Better yet, make it a private party around town with said persons I just mentioned. The media will have a field day about it while you draw Kingston in with your attention. And who wouldn't want to gossip about the rightful owners of Queen Industries and Wayne Enterprise and an obscure foreign heir?”

Bruce was about to refute that when Cassandra interrupted, saying, “Exactly.” And the matter was settled.

Honestly, he just wasn't sure if he had grown softer these past few years, or that he had always been like this but only recently realized that. Years ago, he would've said no and gone with his plan, executed within carefully observed day. All evidence would be collected, the matter would be dealt personally, then the perpetrator would be arrested, and then rinse, lather, and repeat.

But now there were people who would say no to _him_ and put themselves in his plans, whether he liked it or not, because they wanted to help those who couldn't help themselves. They wanted to help him. And that, that was enough to reveal that there wasn't just vengeance and desperation beneath the many layers of masks he made over the years. There was also the desire to mend things that were broken before. There was the desire to no longer be alone.

“Okay,” he replied, “but that limits your search time to only one night. Oliver and I will try to keep him away from his hotel and that general area as best as we can.”

“And here,” Cassandra added. “He is not welcomed here.”

To that, Bruce nodded. “To update you on the situation, Damian ran away about an hour or so ago. He'd most likely get rid of all the tracking devices I've placed on him, so we'll have to trust that he'll come back soon. However, I'll be checking my various sources to ask if they've seen him. You can do that on patrol tonight, but focus on your routes. Gotham still needs us.”

“He ran away,” Stephanie repeated, looking upset as she was conflicted. “If it wasn't for the fact that he ran away to some pervert, I would be laughing at how much of a rebellious preteen he's acting like right now. Be warned, I'll never let him live this down.”

And that was simply something Damian would have to live with because Bruce doubt anyone will let him live this down once the matter settled. Bruce, most definitely, would bring this up when it was necessary to keep his youngest in check. It wasn't the best parenting idea, but he was already certain, as a man knowingly struggling to be a good father, he might blurt it out in a fit of anger. Bruce could only pray that no lasting damage would come between them and he would be humble enough to apologize.

"Alfred has snacks for you," he said, turning back to the large screen. "Go eat and rest up."

Several hours later, deep into the natural night of Gotham, Bruce found his way to her, his body moving like second nature. If wasn't for the fact that he loved Clark, he would've forgotten the true reason why he was at her window again.

He perched nearby for a few moments, needing the time to think because when it came to her, despite their short lived romance, Bruce was sure he would've loved her forever. There was a special diamond attached to a ring locked deep away in the cave with their name engraved on it, and so it would be locked there forever, remaining only to become a relic in the mythos of Batman when the world would one day come to learn everything about Bruce Wayne.

Thinking about her, about what could have been, made him feel guilty because he already had everything anyone could want, a family, a successful company, someone to love beyond time and time again. And yet, she was, forever in a piece of his memory, the most beautiful woman he had ever met. Of course, he would never compare the women in his life with each other, but there was something about Selina that stood out. She always made him wonder, _What if?_

What if they were still in love? Would they have a daughter too? Would they grow old and die together? Would he also be the happiest man on Earth? How many hearts would he break? How many would she break? Would the world finally come together and no more children would have to watch their parents die in a cold alley? Would hischildren still be _his_? Would Clark love someone else? Would they still be friends, lovers? What if they never fell in love?

With a clearer head, Bruce silently opened the window of Selina’s apartment, a sizable and quaint place dimmed with lampshades and blankets with patches of cats. He found her lying contently on the couch, not making a move or a sound to acknowledge that she even noticed his presence.

“Selina,” he said softly, neither the cats nor the woman stirred up, “have you seen Robin?”

“Good evening to you, Bruce,” she replied with a playful tone, not moving a muscle besides the hand petting at the brown cat on her chest. There was a bandage wrapped around its front paws, its tail swishing silently in peace. “Haven't seen him. I've been taking care of Mister Earl here. I can't blame anyone for making sure the biker took two weeks to recover too.”

There were times in which Bruce didn't trust Selina, like the first time they met. Afterwards, when she didn't show semblance of helping anybody but herself, he didn't trust her. However, he never doubted her when she spoke. She had played him like a fool before, but he never doubted that she would turn back around and help him. He didn't doubt her now.

“. . . I see,” he said slowly. “Thank you.”

He went out the window as silently as he came in. She didn't say anything to stop him.

.

.

.

“You didn't tell me anything,” Kon said, arms crossed when he caught his boyfriend in the halls. They were currently with the Titans, going over their training for the morning, but by noon, everyone was going their own way, returning home or hanging out around the Tower. “I met Kingston.”

Tim opened his mouth. Then he closed it, frowning because he realized that he didn't tell Kon about Bruce’s friend from the gala. “Sorry,” he said lamely. “I forgot. Been thinking about things.”

Kon raised an eyebrow, a look of concern. “So why didn't Bruce tell me about some old dude trying to get at the Demon Brat?”

“How did you find out?”

“The Brat tricked me. I heard him calling me and found him in downtown Gotham alone. I thought he was hurt because he kept calling me, but he just said he needed to get back home. And when I got him there, B had a guest. Damian was acting really weird too. He offered _tea_ to Kingston, and he let Kingston holdhim.”

At this point, Tim was sure his boyfriend was upset. He partly blamed Damian, but it was his fault too because not only were they dating, they were pretty much family too. Yeah, that sounded a little weird, but nobody was calling them brothers. And Kon had some insecurity issues, being a clone and whatnot. Kon wanted to be trusted, and not being told something important by his own boyfriend either was probably as hurtful as being hit with kryptonite. Kon already loved the Bat brood like he loved Ma and Pa. He adored Bruce as a father figure, and he became an older brother and a younger brother in one swoop. Most of all, Kon loved Tim, and Tim reminded himself that he was pretty lucky.

“Really, I'm sorry, Kon,” Tim tried again, letting himself relax. “We were going to investigate Kingston first before making a completely big deal about it. The case have been in the back of my mind since the gala. I didn't think Demon Brat would go as far as to play nice. What did else did he do?”

Kon grimaced. Tim knew that Kryptonians were capable of pouting, but Kon had a bit of trouble with that expression, ending up a lot more solemn. Stephanie had once mentioned that Kon had one of the most natural bitch face she had ever seen. To be honest, Tim found Kon adorable despite lacking the cuteness of sticking out one’s bottom lip.

And to be even more honest, Tim found it _hot,_  and he was glad that his room wasn't too far off.

“He sat on Kingston’s lap,” Kon answered with a twist of disgust on his lips. “I heard the man’s heart skip a beat and his muscles twitch. He wanted to touch Damian.”

Tim sighed. Even he couldn't believe that Damian would play nice to this extent. The Brat disliked being touched, except for a small list of people. Said list had expanded during the past few years, but strangers he'd barely met less than a week ago weren't on that list. If anything, strangers that were possible child predators would've had a waiting time of _never._ “What does B plan to do about Damian?” he asked. He hadn't been back in Gotham for the past two days, direct contact stopping a few hours afterwards.

“We decided it's a better idea to distract Damian,” Kon answered, “so we and your brothers will be taking him out of Gotham until the situation is dealt with.”

“Ha. So we should probably warn the others about him.”

“Mhmm. I think he'll really like Garth if he stays in animal form the entire time.”

“He definitely will. Garth would be the ultimate pet because he could theoretically be every animal. But Alfred won't be happy if Damian brings him home.”

Kon laughed. “There's a lot of space in the Manor.”

“No, Kon. B has a problem. Don't tempt him. Anyway, I'm going to relax in my room until I go back to Gotham. Want to come with?”

“Sorry, babe, Ma's making meatloaf tonight. Don't want to miss that.”

Tim sighed again, shaking his head in amusement. “I mean to my room, babe. To _relax._ ”

Kon blinked a few times, and then he let out a soft, “Oh.” He didn't reply with any more words as he simply carried Tim over his shoulders, the two snickering as the door was quickly closed behind them.

Several hours later, back in the darkness of Gotham, Tim spotted Bruce come out of an apartment in uptown Gotham, waiting at the closest perch. “Any luck, B?” he whispered softly. From sprinkle of cats around the area, the apartment most likely belonged to Catwoman.

Bruce merely hummed before shooting out a hook and flying away to the next tallest building. Tim followed him, aware that his mentor was thinking deeply in the moment. Tim didn't like it, but he knew he had to be there to do his best and make sure Bruce didn't get any crazy idea. Or any crazier idea.

“B?” he said again, louder this time.

“No,” Bruce answered, swinging again and again. Tim followed him, connecting their comm’s together privately.

“And Catwoman didn't have anything to say?”

“I trust her.”

That reminded Tim to take a pause because he wished he had the same power over Bruce as Catwoman did, to make his own mentor, his second _father_ , trust him unconditionally. Honestly, he wished he had a lot of thing. Most of all, he wished he knew his place in this family and believed it. Ever since Bruce died and Damian joined the nightlife, Tim seemed very lost here in Gotham, knowing every street like the back of his hand but not sure if he was welcomed back at the Manor or Cave at times. He wasn't sure about a lot of things. He wished he did. He wished for a lot of things.

“Red Robin?”

Tim blinked, not realizing that the had blanked out for a moment. “Sorry, what?”

Bruce was silent for a moment. “How are things on your end?” he asked, speaking slowly. They finally stopped, standing on top of one of the tallest building in Gotham.

“The usual. Took down a few things on the way, helped an old man cross the road, interrupted a large shipment of cocaine leaving the city. You?”

Bruce nodded. “Remember to check in with Oracle every now and again. And I've been getting no leads to Robin. No one had seen him in the last ten hours, as Robin or Damian. Inform the others as well.”

“I’ll add Robin to my investigation list.”

“No,” Bruce said curtly. “He will come home when he decides he wants to.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Bruce grunted, as if he was not amused. “This isn’t the first time he left to find himself.”

“Then what was the conversation after the gala for? Was it just an act? Because you _knew_ he was going to run away. You wanted him to, didn’t you?”

Bruce’s eyes glanced over the city, his cape fluttering in a cold breeze. “He can do better than me, Tim,” he spoke wistfully like a whisper. “I denied myself opportunities because I didn’t think I deserve them, and I lost _decades._ He’s still a boy. He shouldn’t repeat my mistakes. It’s better for him to realize that early on.”

Tim froze, looking over his second father. “If he’s still a boy,” he said, feeling like he belonged on the moon, “what does that make me?”

Bruce, even with his cowl on, looked a little broken, unable to answer that question the way Tim would’ve wanted. There was no good answer, not when Tim didn’t know what he was and Bruce _knew._

“I’m sorry,” Bruce offered, sounding almost genuine, but it wasn’t a good answer.

Tim stood still as he watched Bruce swing away into the darkness, wondering if even the moon wanted him.

.

.

.

When Clark hung up, Lois had already guessed what was wrong. “Family emergency?” she asked, arms crossed with an amused smile.

Clark nodded, grimacing. “Selina called,” he explained. “Damain’s getting it in over his head. And I just learned that Bruce is keeping something from me.”

“Trouble in paradise, Smallville?”

“No. I just guess I thought, after all these years together, actually getting together and being engaging, Bruce would trust me with Gotham business. Am I asking too much? We both really love our cities too much to move, though it isn't really a problem with all those _mile-high_ trips. I don't know. I guess I might be having cold feet about all this.”

“Oh, Clark. You two will be alright. I just know it. I don't know Bruce well, but I know you. I know you love him, and you love his kids. They were part of your family long before you and Bruce became official. Bruce just needs a personal reminder that he doesn't have to be so paranoid all the time. And besides, if he doesn't trust you, _Selina Kyle,_ out of everyone in all of Gotham, wouldn't have called you.”

Clark laughed, getting up, and he leaned over to give his biggest supporter a kiss in the cheek. “You mind?” he asked, feeling so much better, and pointed to his suitcase.

“I’ll have Perry eating out of my hand, Clark. Go. I'll even get you an extra day off.”

Lois winked, and Clark laughed again, waving a hand goodbye as he heading towards the stairs. “Thanks, Lois,” he said gratefully. “I'll pick you up chocolate mousse when I get back.”

“Bye, Clark. Good luck.”

It took less than a minute before Clark was already flying from the rooftop of the Daily Planet. It took another minute before he reached Gotham, landing unseen a block away. He walked over to the zoo quickly, paid his way in and used his super hearing to locate Selina and Damian.

_“But there's the surprise though.”_

_“_ ** _What_ ** _surprise?”_

Clark immediately found them and reached out his hands to cover Damian’s face, saying, “Surprise, Damian.” He felt his lover’s son stiffen up from someone coming up behind him, but he quickly relaxed, not wanting to ruin the facade.

“Clark,” Damian said, almost happy.

And Clark felt a little bit of pride because it sounded like Damian was starting to warm up to him more, but one look at the boy’s face told him it was too early to dream. Damian had yet to push Clark’s hands away, but even without his x-ray vision, Clark could see the glare Damian had inherited. From who, Clark wasn't sure.

Clark let go, picking Damian up without any prompt. He was holding Damian in his arms, cradling the boy like the child he was with an arm wrapped around Damian’s torso and the other secure under the boy’s legs. He had Damian in a high position so Damian could only place his arms around Clark’s shoulders. _ <We will talk when we get home.*> _ He carefully whispered in Damian’s ear, shifting the boy around to make sure it wasn't obvious to the stranger sitting in front of Selina. _ <Your father will not be happy about this.> _

“Who's this?” the journalist asked, taking a good look at the stranger. “Hello, I'm Clark Kent, Bruce’s fiancé. It's nice to meet you, Mister?”

The unknown man to Clark quickly stuttered, his heart rate beating erratically and fast, “K-kingston, Edward Kingston.” Clark could see this man catch his slip up and immediately picked himself up, impressing the Kryptonian slightly. Not many people could notice their mistakes and smooth it out so quickly. “It's so nice to meet to you. Bruce never mentioned that he was _engaged_. I haven't congratulated him yet.”

Clark smiled politely. “Bruce doesn't like to put his family in the spotlight too much, but I'll make sure to pass it onto him tonight. Oh, and thanks a lot, Selina. I couldn't pull a fast one over Damian if it wasn't for you.”

Selina nodded, chuckling. “Of course, Clark,” she said, going with the flow. She stood up and pressed a friendly kiss against Clark’s cheek. “I suppose I should go now. You two better hurry up if you want to see the whole zoo. It closes in two hours.”

Kingston stood up as well, checking his watch for show. “I should go too,” he said, almost flustered. “I'm meeting with some more old friends from back in my uni days. I must say, before I leave, Damian, that it was lovely to have been here with you today. I'll always remember this date. Now I'll be off now. It was nice to meet you, Miss Kyle, Mister Kent.”

“Goodbye, Mister Edward,” Damian replied, waving his hand a bit too enthusiastically.

Kingston smiled only at him, and he disappeared into the dwindling crowd.

Damian hit Clark on the shoulder in annoyance, not hurting a bit despite all the strength he put into it. “Stop meddling!” he demanded, upset. There was an underlying feel of frustration, but Clark wasn't entirely sure. He clenched his fists in vocal fumes.

“Damian, what were you _thinking_?” Clark asked, frowning. His glasses did little to hide his disappointment. “We're heading home right now. Bruce and Dick must be out of their minds trying to find you. And I want to give your dad a piece of my mind for not telling me what's happening.”

“I can take care of myself. Always have and always will, Kent.”

Clark tightened his hold on Damian as a reflex, as if he was trying to prepare himself to shield his stepson from an unknown but impending danger.

“Take him home, Clark,” Selina interjected calmly, “and make sure he doesn't leave, not until I deal with Kingston.”

“This is my problem, not yours, Kyle,” Damian said.

“That was until I nearly threw up from watching how he looked at you for the last three hours. Besides, Momma needs to take care of her kittens.”

Damian huffed. “-tt- I'm neither a kitten nor yours, Kyle. You can go now. You've outgrown your purpose.”

“ _Damian,_ ” Clark warned, not liking the attitude of those words. He looked to her. “Selina, thank you. I'm glad that you call me.”

Selina smiled softly, pulling down her sunglasses a bit to reveal her golden eyes. “Of course,” she confirmed, laughing. She covered her eyes again, stalking the other direction as if she wanted to be as far away from Kingston as possible. She waved them off. “Now take him home, Clark. See you, boys.”

Clark watched her leave for a moment before he took out his phone, the number already on speed dial. It was ringing.

“Who are you calling?” Damian said, his entire figure frozen in anticipation.

“Alfred,” Clark answered curtly, the other side picking up.

“Don't,” Damian whispered, clenching his teeth. He was worried, Clark guessed. Worry about how Alfred would say, about what kind of expression the family grandfather would wear on his face.

 _“Master Clark,”_ Alfred said calmly, his voice a comforting sound, _“so nice of you to call. How was work at the Planet today?”_

Clark let himself smile a little. “A bit slow so I managed to get most of my work done. And how was your day?”

There was a short moment of silence. _“ **Well**.” _

Clark frowned, noting the stiffness in the word. “Damian’s with me,” he said, hoping to relieve the old man of any anxiety. “We’re at the zoo. Could you pick us up please?”

There was another short moment of silence. _“Very well, sir. I'll be there soon.”_

“Thank you, Alfred. I'll see you in a bit.”

Alfred hummed in acknowledgement, and the line went dead. Clark turned his attention back to Damian, who had been gripping tightly at his cheap suit since the call began. “You could get us back yourself,” Damian bit out, angry.

“If I did, you wouldn't learn anything,” Clark replied, not letting go one bit as he headed towards the zoo’s exit.

“There's nothing I haven't learned yet.”

Damian said that as if it was true, as if he had learned everything there was to learn about the world, and yet Clark doubted the virtues of all his knowledge. There was something more to what he was saying, but the boy was doing all he could to hide it. It was not as if he didn't trust anyone. It was so then that he would be the only person to be hurt in the end.

Clark thought almost endearingly how that was one of the things Damian inherited from Bruce. “Save some of the pain for the rest of us,” he said out loud. “We want to hurt too if it means you'll bleed less.”

He heard Damian quietly suck in a breath, and without another word, the boy stopped, pressing his face against Clark’s shoulder. He didn't say another word, his hands still gripping at the suit. The two of them both waited silently outside the zoo, the sun setting and the crowd disappearing home, until a sleek, black car drove up. A familiar face got out of the driver's seat, and Alfred, under his hat, went to open up the passenger door, making the least bit of sound.

Clark nodded his thanks as he carried Damian into the car. He was about to sit Damian down onto his own seat, but the boy clung onto him, his face pressed tightly against his shoulder. Clark didn't need to see the disappointment on Alfred’s face to know how ashamed Damian was, for whatever he did to the butler.

Alfred closed the door behind them, getting back to the driver's seat, and Clark settled in, deciding against putting on the belt. Luckily, the windows of the cars were darkly tinted and he was Superman, so there wasn't too much concern about getting caught in traffic without strapping the young boy in. Clark held onto Damian the entire ride, nobody speaking as Alfred drove with his eyes always looking forward on the road, but once, the man did look back, a brief look through the mirror, Clark noticing the man glancing over him to Damian in reassurance.

  
_*All translated from Kryptonian. - - AKnightOfAGoodKing_


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

_And from the depths of Hel,_  
_the rage of a half beating heart burns._  
_Where would the skin of her brother be_  
_but buried on her shoulders?_  
2.2

Bruce had a lover. That was quite a shock to Edward because he couldn't help but remember a young intelligent boy with the same name, with the same eyes, the hair. He didn't recall the tired, satisfying smile or the pretty woman. He  _definitely_  did not remember the lover, a man too big for his lanky demeanor. Edward wasn't particularly happy about that, leaving in a rush half due to a burning rage.

He was jealous. _He_ was supposed to be the shining knight in armor, wooing the solemn king in his high tower.  _He_ was supposed to be the one fighting the grand dragon of isolation and winning the prince’s heart, gaining wealth, fame and beauty. He did not realize that there was an ever greater obstacle in this story: another man.

This Clark Kent character wasn't the right hero, however. Edward knew that. The knight was supposed to be of nobility. Edward was old money, a descendant of knights and lords. Kent sounded like a hick and looked like a coward. The knight was supposed to be intelligent. Edward graduated top twenty percentile of his class year. Kent looked like he wrote the school paper for extra credit. The knight was supposed to be handsome. Edward was handsome. Kent was a mess, his hair coming undone from it's morning slickness and his glasses so fogged up you couldn't tell the color of his eyes.

Edward did not like Kent. He never will.

However, there was still his greatest objective. Damian. 

Edward sighed in happy thoughts as he recalled the day. He adored the look of enjoyment of the boy’s face, even more when Damian spoke of a fact or two of each animal. He recalled the closeness Damian allowed him to have, from embracing the boy from behind to holding his small, delicate hand. He was in love.

Edward _must_ see Damian again. He felt like he had to or else his heart would break apart and he would die. He went to pull out his phone from his pocket when suddenly, he realized he never asked Damian for contact information. He frowned even more when he looked through his gallery and had not found one picture of them together. This was a travesty.

But how could he see Damian again? Though he was a good friend of Bruce, Edward doubted that he'd be allowed near Damian again so soon, not after those glares. Damian understated his family’s hostility towards strangers, and it was obvious that they were very protective of their youngest. Edward could understand. He would never let Damian out of his grasp either.

Maybe he could call Wayne Manor and hope for it to be empty save for Damian, or maybe the butler. What does an old man like Pennyworth care about his employer and his family? They obviously don't matter much to him as much the butler didn't much to the family, anyway. Maybe Pennyworth would quietly pass the phone over to the young master. However, there was the off chance that it wouldn't work, and Edward was sitting in the side of the bed, frustrated because he was close to getting what he wanted.

Desperate to speak to Damian, he pulled out his phone from his pants pocket, and then a small slip of paper fell to the ground. Edward noticed it and picked it up, finding only one line consisting of a phone number, text. He had never seen this handwriting before, but he had a strong feeling of who it could possibly come from.

Without wasting another minutes, he quickly typed in the number and sent a text.

**Damian, is this you? It’s Edward.**

Edward started at the screen, silently pleading for a reply.

**Hello, Mister Edward. It's me, Damian. I apologize. I wasn't aware that Kent was due back one day early.**

**If I had known, I would’ve made sure nothing**   **would have gone so wrong.**

 **And Miss Selina, I believe, was quite**   **nosy and rude towards you, but I couldn't**   **get rid of her. I'm sorry.**

**It's alright, Damian. I had a great time. I didn't notice when you gave me your number.**

**I didn't.**

**I slipped it into your pocket when we first arrived at the zoo. My family doesn't appreciate your company as I do, Mister Edward.**

**You're such a smart boy.**

**I never thought Bruce would be so critical of me. We were such good college mates.**

**_. . . . ._  ** **It may be because I've taken a liking to you too much, Mister Kingston.**

**I don't usually find interest in people, and my family is aware of that so they aren't as critical as they are hesitant.**

**I'm sorry. I feel shy all of the sudden.**

**No, nothing to be sorry about, Damian. I'm quite glad actually, since I've taken a liking towards you as well.**

**That's not all, sir. I like you in the way a boy shouldn't like an older man . . .**

Edward felt his heart burst. _What luck!_ There Damian was, confessing his love and affection to him. He quickly went back to reply, the momentary celebration held off for later.

**Damian. What are you saying?**

**Please, Mister Edwards, believe when I say your touch is so gentle, and you're such a kind man. And you're intelligent and handsome, a dream. Father told me about you in uni, about how charming and daring you were.**

**It has only been less than a week since we’ve met, but I can't deny my feelings for you.**

**I think I'm in love with you, Mister Edward.**

.

.

.

When Jason heard from Oracle that Damian ran away from the Manor, he was angry. Sort of. Like, he understood why the brat did it. Jason just wished that Damian didn't, not into the hand of someone like Kingston. 'Cause that story sounded _a lot_ like another story Jason knew so well because - spoilers! - he died in the end.

Sure, their stories were very different because Damian already died before and _wasn't_ going to die again this time, but still, Jason didn't want another kid to end up . . . . end up like him, he guessed.

Jason wasn't actually sure what to feel about that part because he didn't think he actually ended up another Joker. Kill a couple crime bosses and take over the entire city’s underworld with brute force, sure. Become Joker, no. It had been a while since he stopped using the bad kind of violence (the kind that killed people) and returned to the family’s good book, but he had yet to regret what he done, not when he still believed they deserved it. Besides, what was done was done. 

So when Jason heard from Oracle that Damian was back at the Manor, he decided this was the moment to do some of his brotherly duties, namely get the kid to talk in a way that no other male role model could do by being annoying and pestering. He didn't know the complete reason why the kid did it, but Jason was sure that there was a gold mine of answers locked behind the brat’s teeth.

“Jason,” Dick said when said brother arrived back at the Manor a few days early.

The oldest brother of the family looked kind of lost, probably stuck between comforting Damian in the the most sympathetic way and yelling at him with a rage that came from being scared half to death with worry. Jason didn't envy Dick in the role of being both a brother and father figure to the youngest. The man was doing his best, but each role, in their own way, limited the other and could also contradict each other. Unable to figure out an immediate solution, Dick was hesitant in his response, sitting on the couch in the living room until he had a solution which may or may not work.

“Where's the Brat?” Jason asked, getting straight to the point. He wanted to leave as soon as possible. Everyone felt too riled up, the entire atmosphere of the Manor reflecting it. It was lacking movement when there was more than enough people to be doing something, quiet as if everyone was having their own conversations.

Dick frowned, not sure how to respond. He wasn't doing particularly well as a brother/father right now, but he'll learn and be prepared for the next time. For now, he was somewhat of a mess, skeptic about the intent of others, especially while he was worrying about someone he cared so much for, someone who Dick meshed the lines of protectiveness and possessiveness if it meant it'd keep them safe.

“I'm just here to talk to him,” Jason continued, holding his hands up nonchalantly. “Want to make sure he's fine. What? You going to keep me away from him?”

Dick shook his head, catching Jason’s phrasing and accusatory tone. “He's in his room,” he replied, sighing. “He hasn't left it yet since Clark and Alfred brought him home.”

“And where is everyone else then?”

“Clark and Bruce are in the Cave. Alfred went to Leslie's. The rest, not at the Manor.”

Jason nodded, figuring that the two dads of the household might be dealing with another problem and Alfred was taking a breather away from the Manor to calm down. Walking towards Damian’s room, Jason hoped Alfred didn't just decide to leave forever. He'd never forgive Damian for that. That man was the one good thing that remained in this family all these years, and it was more than anyone here deserved.

Standing in front of the closed door, giving Damian a chance to notice his presence through the wall, Jason opened the door, a little surprised to find it unlocked, and walked in, quietly closing it behind him. He found the kid sitting in the edge of the bed, petting Alfred the Cat on his lap. Titus perked his ears but remained comfortably at Damian’s feet on the floor.

Damian didn't acknowledge him, his head looking down at the cat, but Jason, unlike Dick, knew how to handle this. Probably. 

Without saying a word, Jason sat down right beside Damian and proceeded to say nothing, staying there. For a while he stared at the wall, looking at the various pieces of art clipped to a large cork board that was definitely a new addition. It didn't fit with the rest of the furniture, but the art made up for it, practiced and delicate works created by his youngest brother, the seasoned artist.

The subject of the art differed from work to work ranging from scenic views of places in Gotham and outside its limits to people, loved ones and friends. Even Jason could see how careful every stroke and every line was made.

The painting of Gotham park with damp green and deep red, reminding Jason of a specific meta-human, showed that Damian was fully capable of appreciating dark colors, going as dark as black, but oddly enough, in some of the other scenic works, there was a lot more lighter shades that Jason would've expected, from Gotham and from Damian.

There was one where the dim lights of the street lamps drowned out the deep blue of the night sky. But the sky wasn't just blue. There was a mixture of other colors - purple, red, green, if he looked carefully - blended in, made barely visible to seem as if he was looking at galaxies from faraway. And the stars, they were _golden,_ tiny specks more concentrated the further away from the street lights, which too were painted dark but with faint lines of gold.

But when it came to the subjects of people, the works begin to imitate Monet as the dark colors are almost faded away like a distant memory, washed out by the brighter colors and shades taking over the entire focus. A few of them caught Jason’s eyes in particular, like the one of Bruce and Clark asleep in the bed. Jason guessed that Damian snuck in, most likely at the first light of the day based on the shadowing and position of the subjects. The older man didn't expect Damian to sketch out Clark too with charcoal, to depict the Kryptonian in such a way that made him _human._ But as Jason looked a little longer, he realized he was wrong; it was Bruce who Damian chose to humanize in his work because that was how he saw his own father now. Clark being included meant the man was starting to have a place in the boy’s heart.

Or the one with Barbara, sitting in her wheelchair in front of her computers. This one was water colored, which Jason couldn't believe worked so well with such a dark setting, but Barbara seemed to light up the entire scene, a soft green glow from her long sleeve shirt illuminating the world rather than the alarming baby blue of the screens. And there was an artistic liberty taken on her wheelchair, because instead of the dull, manufactured black and gray, Barbara was sitting on a rainbow. Somehow, Jason had to take a breath in order to not tear up a little.

And there was one that surprised Jason most of all, because it was him, as Red Hood. Everyone else was depicted unmasked, but there he was, in full gear, wearing the moonlight like a cape as he stood on one of the tallest buildings in Gotham. The helmet was a simpler version, a smooth red with two white slit for his eyes. It made him look like he was . . . _cool_ , like someone a bunch of kids would look up to. Jason, with that one picture, felt like he was the older brother Damian wanted too.

“Would you do one with Roy and Kori?” Jason finally asked once he took everything in. He was in love with the thought of having the two beautiful redheads colored this wonderfully. “I think you'd do it right.”

Damian actually looked up, thinking it over. “Maybe,” he replied, letting Alfred slip off his lap and making his way towards the plump pillow. Titus, finally having a chance, lifted his head up and took over Alfred’s spot. Damian smiled slightly as he started to pet his dog, who wagged his tail in delight. “They'd have to be around more often if I'm to capture their details.”

That sounded a lot like an invitation to invite Roy and Kory over more often.

“So have you come to mock me, Todd?” Damian then asked, sounding a bit board.

“Nah,” Jason replied, ruffling Damian’s hair almost roughly against the younger boy’s displeasure.

Damian clicked his tongue as he slapped Jason’s hand away and fixed his hair as best as he could with his fingers. A comb would've done better, thus leaving a few strands sticking out.

“I'll leave that to Stephanie and Timbo,” Jason continued, leaning back on his hands. “I'll be the good brother today, just for you Demon Brat. So what happened when you got home?”

Damian glanced at him with a bit of skepticism, but he answered, though hesitant, “Pennyworth dismissed himself the day, and Grayson sent me to my room.”

“ _Dick_ sent you to your room? I would've thought the Bat did.”

Damian shrugged. “Father didn't say a word to me. He only nodded to do as Grayson told me.”

The entire family must have the special ability to morally and emotionally crush someone with nothing but silence. Jason wanted to shake his head, understandably sympathetic with Dick right now but frustrated by his predecessor for failing this one time, right now, in being supportive of Damian when Bruce wasn't exactly in speaking terms with his youngest. Jason frowned at the fact that Alfred left the Manor soon after.

“Sorry about that, kid,” Jason ended up saying, apologizing on behalf of the rest of the family. “Everyone's having a rough time with this.”

Damian frowned. “And I don't understand that. Kingston is not a dangerous man. He may be dealing in black market venues, but he's neither a meta-human nor genius enough to be on par with one. I'm enough to handle him.”

And Jason nodded in agreement. “It hits too close to home, Damian. Kingston isn't dangerous, but compared to Brucie, idiotic rich playboy and his horde of obscure kids, he is. We don't use our secret identities to stop crime. We use our heads and toys to do that. We use our public identities to stop people from _finding out_ about Batman and the rest of the community. Kingston isn't a villain. He's Bruce’s college buddy, and he's at least smart enough to make connections. And he isn’t from Gotham, where everyone is half immune to fear toxin and half crazy from Joker gas. He's nothing special, but everyone wants to take extra precautions 'cause they're worried about you. He's targeting _you_ , not Robin. Robin can beat twenty guys half to death, but Damian Wayne can't because he _isn't_ Robin until he puts on that mask.”

Damian grimaced, his lips thin. Titus nuzzled his snout against his friend’s palm, feeling the discomfort coming from him. The kid didn't look too happy, but he wasn't angry either. “I think I've grown weak,” he finally said after a few minutes of silence. “Grandfather would be disappointed in me if he knew how far I've fallen.”

Jason frowned at that. He tried to keep away from talk about the League of Assassins with Damian. Talia may be an ally of Jason, but she was Damian’s mother. He knew what it was like to fall out with something you've at one point given your whole life to, only to have someone else take your place after you’re gone.

Ha, that was something they had in common. They were both replaced.

“Ra’s is an asshole,” Jason commented without regret. He didn't really have a particular opinion of the Demon Head, but he sure didn't like anybody who criticized his family.

Damian looked at Jason with a childish expression, his bottom lip pressed up to create a frown that had no strength. “I am disappointed in myself, Todd. I've grown weak, and that isn't something you, or anyone, should justify.”

“I'm not. And who says you're weak? Did something happen?”

Damian shook his head. “I've just come to realize that. I've been . . .  increasingly compromised since I've become Robin. I've become too attached to too many people. I _worry_ for them when I know they are more than capable of handling their problems themselves. I've _hesitated._ ”

Really, Jason wanted to laugh.

This was all Damian was acting out for? Not the dying once already and coming back alive? Not the constant threats of dying again?

But he didn't because Jason was sure Damian had issues with those things as well. They all did, but Jason really understood where the boy was coming from.

The League, under Ra’s, had long been a following that put everything but the goal of world domination second. Emotions and attachments were kept at a bare minimum, even mother and son kept a sword length away more often than not. And the son was raised with a purpose, to take over his grandfather's position, but it wasn't as grand as he believed it to be when Ra’s really wanted to take over Damian’s body. Damian learned he was a pawn, and his mother had put him to the side in Gotham.

The boy was raised to be an assassin, not knowing how _wrong_ it was to take a life. Jason was reminded of Cassandra because she was also a pawn, by the same League, and she first killed when she was young too. Recalling that, he was bewildered at how similar everyone in this family was. He had never realized that somehow, each and every one of them was connected. They were connected through wrongs they didn't know they committed.

“And that's okay, Damian,” Jason said softly, pulling his younger brother close with an arm over his shoulder. Damian, oddly enough, didn't push him away, hands remaining on Titus. “Ra’s was wrong. Talia too. Being worried doesn't make you weak. Hesitating doesn't make you weak. _Caring_ about people you love never makes you weak, not if you can help it. Think about Bruce. He watched his parents die and lost his family in an alley, but look at him now with all the kids he has, kids who lost people they loved too. You’re not weak, Brat, for loving your dad or Alfred or Dick or anyone else. Anyone who tells you otherwise doesn't even deserve to look at you. You're magic, Damian. You're good.”

Damian didn't move. “I don't think so,” he said softly.

Jason combed his fingers through Damian’s hair. “Well, I'm here to remind you are.”

.

.

.

Alfred couldn't believe just how calm his hands were, holding the cup and saucer still like a manikin. Where had all that anger from yesterday gone? He was relieved, terrifyingly relieved. He sighed.

“Alfred?” his darling Leslie said, placing a hand on his shoulder in comfort. She started to thumb a soothing pattern on his neck, her touch soft and warm like her presence standing behind him on the couch. “You haven't told me what happened.”

“Do you remember the times when people kept touching Bruce, when he was younger?” he asked, leaning against her skin.

“Yes,” she replied slowly.

“So you remember the time he was once kidnapped, only a year after . . .”

Leslie simply hummed, remembering. She remembered the quiver in young Bruce’s voice, the dozen policemen assigned 24/7 to the case, the near shattering of Alfred.

Bruce was only ten, quiet and always following Alfred whenever he had to show up to a social events. Even though Martha and Thomas were dead, society still expected the young heir to show his face in public once in awhile, always inviting the boy by using his dead parents’ name, and Alfred, for a time, became the face of the Wayne family as the guardian of the speechless boy peeking out with watchful eyes from behind him.

But one night, barely a year after their deaths, Bruce disappeared, faded away into nothingness when the lights dimmed and everyone quieted down in respect of the special speech made by the hostess. It was no more than five minutes, but by the time the lights return to its proper brightness, Alfred found no one clinging close to him. The weight of fear made the older man choke out Bruce’s name in desperation.

“It was the first time he had been away from me for so long,” Alfred said, closing his eyes. “The Manor was empty, and I had no choice but to remain home and wait for him, praying that he'd come back. The police were going crazy looking for him, the son of one of the wealthiest families gone and not yet found. I thought the worst until he called a few days after that night, claiming to have gotten away from his capturers on his own. When the police brought him home, I never wanted him to leave ever again, but I knew, when I watch him too calmly answer questions, that he would. He was going to leave and I would never be sure he’d return. I never realized that I'd lost the boy too in that alleyway until that night.

“And now there’s this _Englishman_ coming into the life Bruce had rebuild and resembling every bit like those people who dare touch a defenseless young boy. He has the audacity to place his hands on my youngest charge, and Damian purposely plays into his act for the sake of proving himself. The details are so different, but I cannot for the life of me help but be reminded of the same ending. Am I wrong to think that, Leslie?”

Leslie leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss against the old man’s head, embracing him from behind. “No,” she told him, closing her eyes so she could feel his warmth better. He smelled like oakwood tonight. “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid, Alfred. It’s what everyone who loves feel. No one can fault you for wanting to protect him. I won't, not ever. But I know it’s not the only thing you're afraid of. You're scared that Damian might leave, just like Bruce did. You’re afraid of what could happen if you can't follow. You’re afraid of being abandoned again.”

Alfred took a deep breath then, placing a hand on Leslie’s arm for comfort.

She was right. When Bruce left one morning without a word or a goodbye, Alfred could not help but feel as if he had been abandoned, that he had failed his charge. Five years, no calls, no letters, nothing. It was just him, one aging man, in a large, empty Manor, and it was a fight against time itself. It was a very lonely five years, the daily routines and tasks the only thing to keep him from going insane until the mundaneness made him itch too much to stay in the Manor for a few days, going back to England or some other beautiful country. But he'd always return, no more than a week later, expecting the young master to greet him at the front door with a small smile and a quiet apology. It never happened, not for five long years, and Alfred was left, standing at the threshold, taking a moment to prepare himself for another several months of the same routine over and over again.

It was nighttime when Bruce returned, bearing nothing more than a backpack and the worn out clothes on his back. He appeared out of nowhere, no prompt or warning, and without a smile or an apology. And Alfred was content with that because his _son_ was home, the last five years like a distant memory in less than one minute. And that large, empty Manor started to fill up again, rooms being claimed and personalized, the presence of sons and daughters filling his world. It was only a pity that he could not follow them everywhere because there were so many now to look after carefully. And they all left at different times for different things. His only comfort when one of his charges left, they'd say goodbye or _See you soon_ _, Alfred_ , but his only assurance was when they came back.

“A little,” Alfred said, exhaling slowly, “but that’s just enough to be the death of me.”

.

.

.

Clark was at a near lost at what to do.

He, Alfred and Damian had just arrived at the Manor moments ago, the three greeted by the sounds of hurried footsteps coming down the stairs. With his super hearing, Clark knew Bruce was following behind, his heart both a comfort and a source of confusion. He could hear how frantic Dick must have been, but Bruce seemed at peace, waiting.

“Damian,” Dick said, a distinct frown on his usually cheerful face. “Wha- Wh- Go to your room. _Now.”_

Clark blinked once, shocked. Never had he thought that Dick would demand that, especially from Damian, who was silently clenching his teeth as if to steel himself from an inevitable argument filled with shouting and unresolved tension. Damian didn't expect that from Dick either, and he looked to his father.

Bruce merely nodded, and Clark was a little disappointed.

Damian almost went slack, doing as he was told, walking up the stairs past Dick, who looked as upset as he was conflicted, and Bruce, who watched him fade into the hallway. Dick sputtered a bit, stopping to let out an uncertain sigh.

“I’ll excuse myself for the rest of the day,” Alfred said curtly. “If you need me, I’ll be at Doctor Thompson's.” And without even so much of a reply, the old man dismissed himself, closing the door behind him.

“Clark and I will be in the Cave, Dick,” Bruce then said, heading towards the familiar grandfather clock. “Leave him alone for now. He’ll come around.”

Dick looked troubled, a tiny speck in his eyes begging for someone stay and help. But he nodded, waving the two off as he headed into another room, looking contemplative.

Clark followed his lover down to the Cave, the atmosphere feeling heavy. Right now, he was upset at two things: Bruce not telling him about the situation involving Damian and that Kingston, and Bruce handling everything and everyone with too much lack of emotion. Bruce had been his best friend since what should be considered forever, and after all these years, Clark still felt like he was more often scratching the surface that was Bruce Wayne than not. But Clark always have him the benefit of the doubt because Bruce _tried._

“Say it,” Bruce said, sitting at the seat with his hands clasped on his lap and his back to the Computer. He had his full attention on Clark.

To anyone who didn't know Bruce as well as Clark did, this posture, this _gesture_ , would seem odd because it _looked_  the man was exposing himself bare for the confrontation to come. To Clark, however, it was one of Bruce’s worst coping mechanisms because in actuality, in the vigilante's mind, he had placed a wall of objectivity between himself and the problem. Bruce was distancing himself, putting on a naked mask to hide his thoughts.

“B, don't do that,” Clark said, frowning. He took his glasses, slipping it in his breast pocket, and he leaned down closer to his lover, placing his hands on either side of Bruce. “Not me. Please.”

Bruce looked up for a moment before reaching up to pull Clark towards him by the neck, exhaling lightly through the kiss that was meant to welcome Clark home. Clark responded just as lightly, not pushing Bruce to speak because in the silence, he heard Bruce think.

“He was a classmate from University,” Bruce said, taking down that wall in his mind. He unclasped his hands and placed them over Clark’s, his eyes closed in a fit of exhaustion. “He was attracted to me, but he’s looking to Damian because I got too old for his taste.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Clark asked, lacking any hint of accusations. Still, he was not happy about Kingston.

“You have to deal with the other personal aspects of your life, Clark. I would've told you when you came back to Gotham tomorrow.”

“But I can always come back to Gotham right now. It’s something else, isn't it? It’s you not wanting me involved with the part of your life before all of this. It's you deciding that it's your own problem, but it isn't, Bruce. Not when you have a family now. Let us help. _I_ want to help.”

Clark gently pulled Bruce up on his feet, wrapping an arm around his lover like they were to waltz. He pressed a kiss against the back of Bruce’s hand, speaking against his best friend’s skin. “Save some pain for me,” he almost echoed himself. “I want to hurt too if it means you’ll bleed less.”

That was when the mask slipped away, and there was no Batman, no Bruce Wayne, no stranger but a man desperately trying to be a good father and a good man, lost in a way in which his head was above the water but the sky was black. Clark was allowed to see a man who always knew where he was headed but never sure if he was taking the better path, all the directions in his head but yet lost in his heart. It was both a miracle and a tragedy.

“I’ll deal with Edward,” Bruce said, looking down between their feet. His feet were bare, but Clark had yet to take off his shoes, looking far too ready to go than arrive. They can remedy that soon enough. “But I . . . I don't know what to do with everyone else. Tim asked me something that I didn't have the answer to.”

“One at a time then,” Clark replied, giving Bruce a small smile. “Let's start with Tim. What did he ask?”

_“If he’s still a boy, what does that make me?”_

Ah. Clark was hit with guilt because out of all of Bruce’s children, Tim may be the most mysterious to him. He always thought of Tim as Conner’s boyfriend first, before he even remember the boy was also Bruce’s son. Before he even recall the orphan that was Tim Drake. Clark was doing no better by Tim than Bruce was at this moment, and he briefly made himself promise to change that, for Tim’s sake.

“Isn't he everything else then?” Clark asked.

“It felt like there was no right way to answer,” Bruce answered.

“Maybe not in words. I'm the writer here.”

Bruce chuckled, following a Polaris in the sky.  “Yes.”

“I think you speak better when you don't. Don't get me wrong, okay? But Cassandra. She doesn't talk much, but I hear her heart beating with a rhythm of _I love you_ whenever you're around. She's like you. What she can't say in words, she makes up so much more with action. She absolutely adores you, Bruce, in a way that even I can't physically imitate because the language she speaks best is with her body. And I think Tim knows that because he takes after you the most.”

Bruce looked up again, nodding. “Thank you, Clark,” he said, the quiet fluttering of the bats above one decibel louder, “and I’m sorry, for not telling you earlier.”

And Clark felt relieved. He fell in love a little more again. He smiled. He chuckled. He held his lover carefully. He hoped for brighter stars.


End file.
